Hot salsa.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
santa claus
Santa came to Hoboken on a bright red fire truck. I guess even Santa's got mafia connections.
hohoho
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Hoboken police department
I hear loud male (goes without saying) burping.
I feel like I'm on the set of a sitcom with a laugh track, but since I'm in it I don't hear the laugh track. I just feel the stilted flow leaving silences where the laugh track can later be inserted. It's an 80's sitcom set.
I am sitting here after some breaking news- check out how successful Hobokenites spend their time abusing people.
The media writer was sitting at a desk in the lobby apparently finishing up writing about this case. She unplugged her laptop from the wall plug then replugged what was originally there before she packed up her backpack and left.
The holiday decorations undo any sense of seriousness or gravity. Least of all is the line on the white board in the room where the reports are taken (and if I'm to believe cop shows, where homeroom is held): Remember to spend more time smiling and less time crying.
On the way home (I write later for those of you keeping track of tense) I walked behind a brass band in Santa hats (the band was walking with instruments in hand, bared to the world). It seemed fitting. Surreal is a word I often associate with Hoboken. The other is stuck-in-a-different-era.
I feel like I'm on the set of a sitcom with a laugh track, but since I'm in it I don't hear the laugh track. I just feel the stilted flow leaving silences where the laugh track can later be inserted. It's an 80's sitcom set.
I am sitting here after some breaking news- check out how successful Hobokenites spend their time abusing people.
The media writer was sitting at a desk in the lobby apparently finishing up writing about this case. She unplugged her laptop from the wall plug then replugged what was originally there before she packed up her backpack and left.
The holiday decorations undo any sense of seriousness or gravity. Least of all is the line on the white board in the room where the reports are taken (and if I'm to believe cop shows, where homeroom is held): Remember to spend more time smiling and less time crying.
On the way home (I write later for those of you keeping track of tense) I walked behind a brass band in Santa hats (the band was walking with instruments in hand, bared to the world). It seemed fitting. Surreal is a word I often associate with Hoboken. The other is stuck-in-a-different-era.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
getting dressed
I walked in on New York getting dressed for the holidays. The star being primped for the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center, all shiny and grand.
And this I just thought was funny. How nice, you might think at first glance, that someone left this poor person a note. But then, remember where we are, and then I think they stole the bike and left a note. It's funny even though, remember kids, it's never nice to steal.
And this I just thought was funny. How nice, you might think at first glance, that someone left this poor person a note. But then, remember where we are, and then I think they stole the bike and left a note. It's funny even though, remember kids, it's never nice to steal.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
pets
I'm in my favorite Hoboken coffee shop having Sunday morning americano (excellent) and chocolate croissant (they are usually better) when this family walks in with their dog and orders and sits down. The dog snorts and gasps for breath (the owner's exact words to the cashier) and smells (my addition).
They ruined my coffee experience. I didn't ask to be having breakfast with their smelly and unendearingly vocal dog.
The value of this experience is the reminder that one lives in a world one cannot control. And one that one may not always like, may want to right. But said one cannot fight all battles. Particularly not if they arise during Sunday morning lazing time.
They ruined my coffee experience. I didn't ask to be having breakfast with their smelly and unendearingly vocal dog.
The value of this experience is the reminder that one lives in a world one cannot control. And one that one may not always like, may want to right. But said one cannot fight all battles. Particularly not if they arise during Sunday morning lazing time.
Friday, November 06, 2009
kinds of tired
Tired. Not in the oh-I-was-so-productive-and-I-am-going-to-sleep-well-tonight way.
More in the I'm-so-burned-out-from-all-of-those-crazy-mean-people-out-there.
I hibernate, I write some, I listen to good music, I recharge. Otherwise, I get weaker and weaker, my aura thinner and thinner, my face older and older.
A mental escape is what I need to recharge, not sleep, not yoga alone. A mental escape. Open space helps. The sunset today helped. And beauty helps.
A reminder of the vastness of this space heals:
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
addresses
It has been a target of some jokes that in Amman we do not have street addresses. Mail is not delivered home, but to a post office. Bills may be delivered to your door and folded into the space between the doorknob and the door frame like a take-out menu. People refer to places based on landmarks and on major street or neighborhood names.
So, it was with some surprise that this visit to Amman, I saw street signs. Houses and buildings now have a big blue street number, probably placed there by the city because they are all in the same style.
I pointed this out to my dad when I arrived- there are street signs. He said, yeah, they put up these numbers on the houses a while ago. I said, no, the street signs on the corners. He said- oh, those, I never noticed those.
Street signs and nobody even noticed!
It's just not part of the culture. And it's not useful if there is no map that captures all the names- I could tell you the address, but there are no city maps for you to figure out where that street is! (Even Google maps of Amman include only the main streets.)
Well, mail delivered to your doorstep is out-of-fashion (all we get is junk!)- Amman just skipped that step. Just like I never owned a VCR player and went from nothing to a DVD player...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
love defined simply
From Atmospheric Disturbances:
I found that I just wanted to tell her I loved her... I felt within me those proverbial butterflies, the desire to have her think well of me, the desire to lay myself out beside her, the desire for the world to see her next to me, the flittering conviction that she in fact was the whole world, was all worlds, all those desires.
For those who have a difficult time with the definition of love, this is a simplified version perhaps, the little things that matter, the parts that summed up come to mean love in the grandest sense.
I found that I just wanted to tell her I loved her... I felt within me those proverbial butterflies, the desire to have her think well of me, the desire to lay myself out beside her, the desire for the world to see her next to me, the flittering conviction that she in fact was the whole world, was all worlds, all those desires.
For those who have a difficult time with the definition of love, this is a simplified version perhaps, the little things that matter, the parts that summed up come to mean love in the grandest sense.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
amman
The Good:
- Rita who sat next to me on the plane giving me her number while we waited for her luggage. Come and have a cup of coffee while you're here. She lives near my aunts and uncle- in the neighborhood next door. I plan to call her and stop in if I have the car one day and am passing by.
- Eid lunch at my aunt's house. The stuffed lamb that gets put in the center of the table, the frenzy of people handing plates to those at the center of the table to have rice and lamb served to them (two pieces for Rana, they say, to welcome me back, and I happily accept). Then each person walks around the table and finishes serving themselves the yoghurt sauce on top, the mulukhiya, the salads, the olives and pickles, the meat pies, and whatever else I didn't even get to register because I was too full to make my way all the way around the table. Each person takes a seat- at the table if you are among the adults and want to sit at the table, otherwise on any of the couches in either of the salons. Aunts calling out to the younger generation- regardless of whose child- bring me a glass of water, a spoon, a fork.
- Eid visits to friends and family. Dressed up, stopping for a short visit at each house as we make our way through the ones on our list, drinking tea or coffee (Arabic for these occasions more often than Turkish- Gulfi cardamom or black Jordanian style), a Eid cookie, a piece of chocolate, and on we go.
- The hills, Mount Nebo, the Dead Sea, eating delicious food while sitting out in the beautiful breezy evening as the sun sets, with an argheelah and tea with mint.
The Bad:
- When putting my luggage on the belt to be scanned at customs on my way out of the airport, some guy walks up from another belt, puts his bag in between my first two bags, and pushes his in the way as I'm trying to lug my big bag onto the belt. When I say, what are you doing, there's a line? the guy with him says, patience, patience. That's rude, I say, it's rude, coming back to your country to have to see this, it's rude. Leaving the airport already frustrated by the special treatment that comes with some family names and some backgrounds.
The Ugly:
- Amman-style self-promotion. Nothing more needs to be said here- if you know it, you know it. If you don't, it's hard to explain because each example seems so trivial, but altogether it's hideous.
- Rita who sat next to me on the plane giving me her number while we waited for her luggage. Come and have a cup of coffee while you're here. She lives near my aunts and uncle- in the neighborhood next door. I plan to call her and stop in if I have the car one day and am passing by.
- Eid lunch at my aunt's house. The stuffed lamb that gets put in the center of the table, the frenzy of people handing plates to those at the center of the table to have rice and lamb served to them (two pieces for Rana, they say, to welcome me back, and I happily accept). Then each person walks around the table and finishes serving themselves the yoghurt sauce on top, the mulukhiya, the salads, the olives and pickles, the meat pies, and whatever else I didn't even get to register because I was too full to make my way all the way around the table. Each person takes a seat- at the table if you are among the adults and want to sit at the table, otherwise on any of the couches in either of the salons. Aunts calling out to the younger generation- regardless of whose child- bring me a glass of water, a spoon, a fork.
- Eid visits to friends and family. Dressed up, stopping for a short visit at each house as we make our way through the ones on our list, drinking tea or coffee (Arabic for these occasions more often than Turkish- Gulfi cardamom or black Jordanian style), a Eid cookie, a piece of chocolate, and on we go.
- The hills, Mount Nebo, the Dead Sea, eating delicious food while sitting out in the beautiful breezy evening as the sun sets, with an argheelah and tea with mint.
The Bad:
- When putting my luggage on the belt to be scanned at customs on my way out of the airport, some guy walks up from another belt, puts his bag in between my first two bags, and pushes his in the way as I'm trying to lug my big bag onto the belt. When I say, what are you doing, there's a line? the guy with him says, patience, patience. That's rude, I say, it's rude, coming back to your country to have to see this, it's rude. Leaving the airport already frustrated by the special treatment that comes with some family names and some backgrounds.
The Ugly:
- Amman-style self-promotion. Nothing more needs to be said here- if you know it, you know it. If you don't, it's hard to explain because each example seems so trivial, but altogether it's hideous.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
naipaul revisited
Following up on the note on A Bend in the River, I found the following information online at absoluteastronomy.com (my first stop for information):
Set in an unnamed African country after independence, the book is narrated by Salim, an ethnically Indian Muslim and a shopkeeper in a small, growing city in the country's remote interior. Though born and raised in another country in a more cosmopolitan city on the coast (likely Mombasa) during the colonial period, as neither European nor fully African, Salim observes the rapid changes in his homeland with an outsider's distance. Although Salim never identifies the country where he lives, the events closely parallel the Belgian Congo's transformation into Zaire under Mobutu Sésé Seko (the novel's "Big Man") - with the unnamed city in which the novel is set having some similarity with the Zairean river port of Kisangani. Others see a resonance with Idi Amin's Uganda - however, as Uganda is referred to multiple times in the book as being a place people go to, or hear news from, this seems unlikely.
There must be only a handful of people who have wondered about the setting of the book- how funny that they can find each other and be friends.
Monday, September 14, 2009
upsets
Federer lost the US Open? And to Del Potro??
Patrick Swayze died?
A summer dress to an evening wedding in New York?
The world has been turned upside down. Just sit back, brace yourselves, and wait for the blip in the cosmos to pass.
Patrick Swayze died?
A summer dress to an evening wedding in New York?
The world has been turned upside down. Just sit back, brace yourselves, and wait for the blip in the cosmos to pass.
Friday, September 04, 2009
americanos and summer
It seems only appropriate that I should mention coffees again on the last day of summer hours, the last half day, the last day of a summer vacation in which I did not partake.
Americanos- the answer to my coffee needs- two shots of espresso with hot water. None of the back-of-the-mouth taste, the puckering of lips and the grimace that come with drip coffee. Only the appropriate bitterness (not all is bad- pecans can be bitter, yet enjoyable, for example) that comes with good espresso. No dairy since I'm on a dairy vacation- although I do check in regularly because I love cheese! Americanos are the solution to a problem I feared would only be resolved with me leaving coffee behind completely.
These afternoons were spent walking around the city, hangin in Hoboken, drinking coffees (you know I don't mean drip), working on my projects.
Unfortunately my projects are mid-stream, and my goal of finishing before the end of summer (not official, physical summer) can no longer be met. But there will be weekends and cold long nights of winter.
Fall's almost here!! LOVE the fall feeling!!
Americanos- the answer to my coffee needs- two shots of espresso with hot water. None of the back-of-the-mouth taste, the puckering of lips and the grimace that come with drip coffee. Only the appropriate bitterness (not all is bad- pecans can be bitter, yet enjoyable, for example) that comes with good espresso. No dairy since I'm on a dairy vacation- although I do check in regularly because I love cheese! Americanos are the solution to a problem I feared would only be resolved with me leaving coffee behind completely.
These afternoons were spent walking around the city, hangin in Hoboken, drinking coffees (you know I don't mean drip), working on my projects.
Unfortunately my projects are mid-stream, and my goal of finishing before the end of summer (not official, physical summer) can no longer be met. But there will be weekends and cold long nights of winter.
Fall's almost here!! LOVE the fall feeling!!
Monday, August 31, 2009
in a free state
Just finished another Naipaul book. I need to know where these are set- which country? Anyone?
And a Bend in the River I thought was Uganda until Uganda is mentioned as another country. Anyone?
Both excellent. Although I did have to wonder during this one- why am I reading this? Where does it take me? Maybe it was just the book didn't go anywhere novel (pun).
A good friend turned me onto Naipaul- he's growing on me (Naipaul, not my friend- we've known each other for over ten years).
Searching around for the country in which the book is based (a generic African country? like Gabriel Garcia Marquez's book about the dictator was based in a generic Central/South American country?), I found that I have one of the ugliest editions- the cover has some Soviet-inspired design on front, which really bums me out.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
the mountains
Some pretty places out there. Some nice drives. Great weather. Open skies. My favorites (no surprise to many of you) are the alpine lands (colorful but vast and open). Openness so you don't lose sight of the sky. I breath more deeply.
The drive begins...
Friday, August 07, 2009
cosmo
From Cosmo magazine. A magazine for women with an article telling women where men are going to meet women.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
khalil gibran khalil
There is no greater testament to Khalil Jibran Khalil than an afternoon at the beach. I broke free of social restraints when I read a line that said, in other words, the wind longs to play through your hair- saying it was truly a denial of the natural order to live otherwise. It was a longer than average stride in my journey out into the world. Few people, perhaps even no one, know the role he played in my committment (philosophy) to living my life as sincerely as I try to do.
By chance, as I write this, a family with women in hijab are setting up a blanket near us. I cannot help but feel they have missed out on one of the most essential, basic, fundamental joys of living, of being. And have denied the ocean air its natural right.
By chance, as I write this, a family with women in hijab are setting up a blanket near us. I cannot help but feel they have missed out on one of the most essential, basic, fundamental joys of living, of being. And have denied the ocean air its natural right.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
beach
I love the colors in these- the storms, the water, the flowers, the sailboat, the grays, the greens, the blues.
Friday, June 26, 2009
kiss of light
The love affair with Hoboken continues. The kiss of sun on the tip of the Empire State building while the city is muted in a shade of gray. Like a violin with the muter- what is that piece called? It makes you take a step closer and lean your ear in- feel someone is whispering in your ear, a secret, an intimate exchange.
And the local bakeries. First I've never heard a bakery refer to itself as 'antique'. Secondly, couldn't this scene be from a whole list of different countries and from a whole range of decades?
And this little place. It looks like someone put up a sign outside of the door to the kitchen.
Then the local doctor's visit. But the doctor doesn't live in Hoboken- too expensive!
And bought a cute ruffly summery dress.
Ahhhhh..... Let the weekend begin.
michael jackson
Surprisingly, I'm touched. Troubled soul. Genius is a heavy load to bear, apparently.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
birthday blues
A coworker who is getting married next weekend said, after planning her wedding for two years (!), that she was a little sad that her wedding would soon be over. And after someone mentioned the phenomenon of the wedding day blues, I realized that I should be allowed to freely experss birthday blues.
Don't get me wrong- I had a great birthday complete with a nice dinner out (at the best restaurant in town), extravagant flowers, friends with whom to share the occasion, friends sending me nice thoughts from afar, and good health. Oh and nice presents! Nothing lacking.
But I admit freely there were still some birthday blues after the fact.
Don't get me wrong- I had a great birthday complete with a nice dinner out (at the best restaurant in town), extravagant flowers, friends with whom to share the occasion, friends sending me nice thoughts from afar, and good health. Oh and nice presents! Nothing lacking.
But I admit freely there were still some birthday blues after the fact.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
birthdays
I don't feel my age. And that's either a good thing or at some point I'll wake up to reality and realize I'm suddenly 10 years older. A mega-birthday.
In many ways I've always felt like someone in her early-30s. I was maybe a bit out of place when I was younger. Maybe when I'm past that age, I'll return to feeling out of place. Maybe feeling out of place is just an inherent characteristic.
A day of reflection. And resolutions. (Thankfully?) I'm too busy for that this year. But this will require a good cup of coffee and some blank paper very, very soon.
In many ways I've always felt like someone in her early-30s. I was maybe a bit out of place when I was younger. Maybe when I'm past that age, I'll return to feeling out of place. Maybe feeling out of place is just an inherent characteristic.
A day of reflection. And resolutions. (Thankfully?) I'm too busy for that this year. But this will require a good cup of coffee and some blank paper very, very soon.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
ever since the literature of exile
I was going through my old papers (academic papers) last night and came across one of my favorites from one of my favorite classes: Voices of the Third World- Literature of Exile. It was a personal response to Edward Said's After the Last Sky, which was his personal account of Palestine and being Palestinian.
All those years ago I had apparently made the same comment- Israelis are stripping Palestinians of the culture and identity by incorporating Palestinian food (and I had also remarked on handicrafts) into the Israeli culture. The political mission has been to deny the Palestinian culture, and through this, the Palestinian claim on the land they had cultivated, loved, and ultimately been buried in.
So the same fire still burns in me, obviously.
My professor then, who was a writer and visiting professor at Hamilton, sent the paper to Edward Said. It meant a lot- I was deeply honored.
All those years ago I had apparently made the same comment- Israelis are stripping Palestinians of the culture and identity by incorporating Palestinian food (and I had also remarked on handicrafts) into the Israeli culture. The political mission has been to deny the Palestinian culture, and through this, the Palestinian claim on the land they had cultivated, loved, and ultimately been buried in.
So the same fire still burns in me, obviously.
My professor then, who was a writer and visiting professor at Hamilton, sent the paper to Edward Said. It meant a lot- I was deeply honored.
Friday, June 05, 2009
political statements
I did something I'm not entirely proud of. A note left at a "Moroccan" restaurant selling all sorts of "Israeli" food. Thanks for the good Arabic food, it read.
The politics behind "Israeli food" is subtle, but still cutting. Lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber salad is now Israeli? But more importantly Arabic hummus and tahini and grape leaves and all of it.
Pretending, maybe even convincing themselves, that the Arabic food they found when occupying the homes of Palestinians (literally- houses left as they were, perhaps only gold and valuables taken or buried) or brought with the Jewish Arabs somehow come from their culture. Which culture? The Russian? European? The Jewish culture? Am I (and the world) expected to believe that the Jews of Israel created this culture? A claim not made by Arabs or South Americans or even people from the United States, ie a collective culture?
This culture was molded, in support of making a claim on land that was not theirs but actually and truly belonged- in that day, that hour- to the Palestinians. To support this claim that Israel belonged to the Jews thousands of years ago. When does that argument ever carry any weight? The story that it belonged to them (Semites- and who do you think we are?) and they have been trying to reclaim it all this time. History is rewritten.
And now they are claiming our food.
The politics behind "Israeli food" is subtle, but still cutting. Lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber salad is now Israeli? But more importantly Arabic hummus and tahini and grape leaves and all of it.
Pretending, maybe even convincing themselves, that the Arabic food they found when occupying the homes of Palestinians (literally- houses left as they were, perhaps only gold and valuables taken or buried) or brought with the Jewish Arabs somehow come from their culture. Which culture? The Russian? European? The Jewish culture? Am I (and the world) expected to believe that the Jews of Israel created this culture? A claim not made by Arabs or South Americans or even people from the United States, ie a collective culture?
This culture was molded, in support of making a claim on land that was not theirs but actually and truly belonged- in that day, that hour- to the Palestinians. To support this claim that Israel belonged to the Jews thousands of years ago. When does that argument ever carry any weight? The story that it belonged to them (Semites- and who do you think we are?) and they have been trying to reclaim it all this time. History is rewritten.
And now they are claiming our food.
Monday, June 01, 2009
yawn
Sleep... Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
That's what I was thinking ALL day today. Yummy sleep. Like falling asleep on the futon mid-day in the sleeping bag. Things you shouldn't necessarily do regularly. Those sleeps are even more satisfying than normal night sleeps.
So late in the day at this point I'm hoping I stay sleepy right into bed tonight.
That's what I was thinking ALL day today. Yummy sleep. Like falling asleep on the futon mid-day in the sleeping bag. Things you shouldn't necessarily do regularly. Those sleeps are even more satisfying than normal night sleeps.
So late in the day at this point I'm hoping I stay sleepy right into bed tonight.
Friday, May 29, 2009
c-town, harlem style
Unless there is someone from Amman reading this, I do not think it will be fully appreciated.
C-town in Harlem.
The same as that in Amman, the landmarks of the city. That's what we use- we live near C-town in Tla Al Ali (neighborhood). I usually start by saying near Duwar Al Waha (near the Al Waha circle). There is a restaurant called Al Waha (the oasis) past this circle, if you are coming from Garden Street (garden, as in the English word). But most people seem not to know it!!! Life no longer ends at the circle, it continues past the circle into an area that used to be referred to as near the New English School (same as in Kuwait, I think, where Queen Rania went, I think).
But the city has grown and now people don't refer to the same landmarks.
Aside: we don't have actual addresses (well, until recently and so nobody uses addresses). Landmarks are how you get around.
So there are places like C-Town. Like Safeway. Or the new (Abdoun, Mecca) or old (Mujama' Jaber) malls.
I'm going to start using it- you know, it's in Harlem, near C-Town.
Friday, May 22, 2009
summer fridays
Love it. Somehow to me there is little that compares to sitting in a coffee shop in the middle of a work day, guilt-free, unhurried. It feels like I am getting an additional "enjoy life" card, a bonus. Go directly to GO, collect the $200, go for it, unburdened and free.
There is the whole carpe diem dilemma. Dead Poets' Society member since the 8th grade, Alice in Wonderland since always, strong believer in life is short and you need to be sincere in how you live it.
The other side of the coin is the part I'm learning now to appreciate. Carpe diem can almost be a burden, a weight. Because every waking hour needs to be special, useful, inspired. A long weekend like the one coming up (from noon on Friday to Tuesday morning) is a wasted weekend if it's not filled with adventure and excitement and emotion.
But peacefulness is seeping in. Spending an evening at home with nothing to show for it- no movie seen, no art project done, no new city explored- is beginning to seem even more like living fully than the living through emotions.
And so I approach summer hours with the idea of it as a practice of sorts, a meditation on life, bonus time, a free pass.
My coffee awaits.
There is the whole carpe diem dilemma. Dead Poets' Society member since the 8th grade, Alice in Wonderland since always, strong believer in life is short and you need to be sincere in how you live it.
The other side of the coin is the part I'm learning now to appreciate. Carpe diem can almost be a burden, a weight. Because every waking hour needs to be special, useful, inspired. A long weekend like the one coming up (from noon on Friday to Tuesday morning) is a wasted weekend if it's not filled with adventure and excitement and emotion.
But peacefulness is seeping in. Spending an evening at home with nothing to show for it- no movie seen, no art project done, no new city explored- is beginning to seem even more like living fully than the living through emotions.
And so I approach summer hours with the idea of it as a practice of sorts, a meditation on life, bonus time, a free pass.
My coffee awaits.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
ashtanga origins
Sri Pattabhi Jois developed the Ashtanga yoga system based in Mysore, India. I do not know much about him (always studying the way and not the teacher). For more information, here's the wikipedia link.
He passed away yesterday at the age of almost 94. I heard about it in a yoga class- the teacher was not mourning this as a great personal tragedy-he lived a long life, she said.
My favorite response to it is how my sorely missed yoga studio in DC approached it: the link.
I'd thought about going to Mysore at some point- still could. Was not ready for it but now not sure it would be different than taking yoga classes here. Anyway, an end of an era of sorts.
He passed away yesterday at the age of almost 94. I heard about it in a yoga class- the teacher was not mourning this as a great personal tragedy-he lived a long life, she said.
My favorite response to it is how my sorely missed yoga studio in DC approached it: the link.
I'd thought about going to Mysore at some point- still could. Was not ready for it but now not sure it would be different than taking yoga classes here. Anyway, an end of an era of sorts.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
good ol' DC
Impressions upon my return:
- Pretty close to zero fashion sense as a city- or rather a single fashion sense- shared by most and overall dull. (blunt, harsh, not to say I'm better but just saying). It's inevitable when you compare to NYC.
- Not much has changed- the stores, the pace, even the rhythm of the traffic lights on the walk to Aldon from the Bethesda metro. Not even the corners on which the homeless hold their cups out to passersby- only the actual faces have changed, a passing of the guard. Granted it has been less than a year but still.
- Friends. You pick up where you left off.
- Buildings coming up in Bethesda- a more urban feel with the tall buildings. But Bethesda's charm was non-urbanism so close to downtown. Anyway, it's DC-style urbanism, which is softer, gentler.
Nothing profound. Just thoughts.
An aside. A coincidence? On the train ride down I caught up with a friend from lives ago who told me she lost her father to thyroid cancer. After our call I pick up the Nadine Gordimer book I brought along (hoping it would be as good as The Pickup but frustratingly disappointed) in which the first paragraph is a statement that the protagonist is isolated after a thyroidectomy and radiation therapy.
- Pretty close to zero fashion sense as a city- or rather a single fashion sense- shared by most and overall dull. (blunt, harsh, not to say I'm better but just saying). It's inevitable when you compare to NYC.
- Not much has changed- the stores, the pace, even the rhythm of the traffic lights on the walk to Aldon from the Bethesda metro. Not even the corners on which the homeless hold their cups out to passersby- only the actual faces have changed, a passing of the guard. Granted it has been less than a year but still.
- Friends. You pick up where you left off.
- Buildings coming up in Bethesda- a more urban feel with the tall buildings. But Bethesda's charm was non-urbanism so close to downtown. Anyway, it's DC-style urbanism, which is softer, gentler.
Nothing profound. Just thoughts.
An aside. A coincidence? On the train ride down I caught up with a friend from lives ago who told me she lost her father to thyroid cancer. After our call I pick up the Nadine Gordimer book I brought along (hoping it would be as good as The Pickup but frustratingly disappointed) in which the first paragraph is a statement that the protagonist is isolated after a thyroidectomy and radiation therapy.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
american idol
Yes, I voted. Why not? Why sit back and observe? Why not be a part of it?
One of 46 million votes. One of the masses- and most likely one of the few non-teenage girl demographic.
Alice was the only one who went through the rabbit hole. She wasn't part of the crowd. But isn't it really about experiencing it fully? And for certain things, it's particularly important to experience things from the belly button of the crowd.
LOVE seeing their talent displayed for my viewing pleasure. Go Allison and Adam!
I'll try to keep American Idol blogs to a minimum...
One of 46 million votes. One of the masses- and most likely one of the few non-teenage girl demographic.
Alice was the only one who went through the rabbit hole. She wasn't part of the crowd. But isn't it really about experiencing it fully? And for certain things, it's particularly important to experience things from the belly button of the crowd.
LOVE seeing their talent displayed for my viewing pleasure. Go Allison and Adam!
I'll try to keep American Idol blogs to a minimum...
ennui
A little restless, a little bored of the routine. Grateful for it all. Yet my mind yearns for more, higher level, broader scale, to satisfy it, to quiet the mindless (meaningless) chatter. Looking forward to looking forward to, excitement, plans.
Currently frustratingly eager and optimistic.
Currently frustratingly eager and optimistic.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
jersey city excitement
Yesterday the fire alarm went off at work. Luckily we received the reassuring message- please stand by while we determine the nature of the fire. Hmm. Please stand by... I work on the 28th floor of a building with thousands of people and 2 stairwells. Hmmm. Usually the guy gets on with his super cool Carribean (Jamaican? see footnote) accent and says- this is a test of the system. But stand by while we assess the nature of the alarm? Not as reassuring. Coffee sounds good right about now.
So I headed down in the elevator- still running since there is as yet no determination made of a fire- and heard pieces of stories in the elevator- planes and fighter jets and circling. Before I made it to the coffeeshop I saw the masses standing outside and decided to check it out.
A plane was circling the building with fighter jets tailing it closely and it had gone twice around our buildings. People had come down even before the fire alarm. They were trying to call colleagues still inside to tell them to evacuate. One woman came up to me in a panic because she could not get through to whomever she was calling. Ambulances and fire trucks racing, sirens competing.
All of the tall buildings in Jersey City had crowds of people piling out, everyone calling or talking or silently questioning.
Long story short, announcements were made that it was a military exercise. Soon police cars were circling announcing on their loudspeakers that it was safe, merely a military exercise, time to get back to work, nothing to see here. It was at this point that I realized my emotions were high.
Here's an article from the NY Times. This building is across the street from mine- it's a beautiful art deco building, by the way.
A coffee and chocolate croissant later, having exchanged some words from the Arabs in the coffeeshop, and I went back to the routine of the day.
Idiots. Even if there was a legitimate reason why there was no prior announcement, they could at least have announced it 5 minutes before. Something. Lucky no one had a heart attack out of fear or something
(footnote: I find it amusing when announcers on the PA system have heavy accents- I mean this in the best of ways- eg the announcer at Union Station in DC has a very, very heavy French accent. It's funny because we all know it's nearly impossible to ever understand anything being said on the PA system. And on top of that it's like they are deliberately screwing with us by adding another layer of difficulty.)
So I headed down in the elevator- still running since there is as yet no determination made of a fire- and heard pieces of stories in the elevator- planes and fighter jets and circling. Before I made it to the coffeeshop I saw the masses standing outside and decided to check it out.
A plane was circling the building with fighter jets tailing it closely and it had gone twice around our buildings. People had come down even before the fire alarm. They were trying to call colleagues still inside to tell them to evacuate. One woman came up to me in a panic because she could not get through to whomever she was calling. Ambulances and fire trucks racing, sirens competing.
All of the tall buildings in Jersey City had crowds of people piling out, everyone calling or talking or silently questioning.
Long story short, announcements were made that it was a military exercise. Soon police cars were circling announcing on their loudspeakers that it was safe, merely a military exercise, time to get back to work, nothing to see here. It was at this point that I realized my emotions were high.
Here's an article from the NY Times. This building is across the street from mine- it's a beautiful art deco building, by the way.
A coffee and chocolate croissant later, having exchanged some words from the Arabs in the coffeeshop, and I went back to the routine of the day.
Idiots. Even if there was a legitimate reason why there was no prior announcement, they could at least have announced it 5 minutes before. Something. Lucky no one had a heart attack out of fear or something
(footnote: I find it amusing when announcers on the PA system have heavy accents- I mean this in the best of ways- eg the announcer at Union Station in DC has a very, very heavy French accent. It's funny because we all know it's nearly impossible to ever understand anything being said on the PA system. And on top of that it's like they are deliberately screwing with us by adding another layer of difficulty.)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
overthinking
Potential Adverse vents:
Living a life of the mind (may also be referred to as living in one's head)
Contraindications may include perseverance of thoughts, often trivial and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. If unable to exit the mind, the body may become overworked and eventually completely exhausted and poop out. Important thoughts may no longer be identifiable among the soft background din of thoughts flowing into each other to the extent that they lose their individual colors and become a soft, hazy gray.
While sleep may often serve to quiet mind (at wavelengths audible to the conscious mind), at times the background noise of constant thought may prove more powerful and intrude into sleep time, quite often in the middle hours of darkness or early hours of light.
Periods of meditation may be necessary in these situations to relieve the mind for short periods, its sole salvation in extreme measures.
A feeling of peace may replace active thought. The absence of usual feelings of joy or elation should not be confused with nothingness but must instead be appreciated as the bliss of meditation. The swaying last night in the lush seats of Carnegie Hall to a beautiful Mendelssohn piece, having forgotten to think for those moments, that was a peaceful quieting of the mind.
Living a life of the mind (may also be referred to as living in one's head)
Contraindications may include perseverance of thoughts, often trivial and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. If unable to exit the mind, the body may become overworked and eventually completely exhausted and poop out. Important thoughts may no longer be identifiable among the soft background din of thoughts flowing into each other to the extent that they lose their individual colors and become a soft, hazy gray.
While sleep may often serve to quiet mind (at wavelengths audible to the conscious mind), at times the background noise of constant thought may prove more powerful and intrude into sleep time, quite often in the middle hours of darkness or early hours of light.
Periods of meditation may be necessary in these situations to relieve the mind for short periods, its sole salvation in extreme measures.
A feeling of peace may replace active thought. The absence of usual feelings of joy or elation should not be confused with nothingness but must instead be appreciated as the bliss of meditation. The swaying last night in the lush seats of Carnegie Hall to a beautiful Mendelssohn piece, having forgotten to think for those moments, that was a peaceful quieting of the mind.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
coincidink
I ran into someone I know in New frickin' York. What are the chances of that? This wasn't running into someone somewhere that is associated with either of us. Just randomly at a concert.
Cool.
Cool.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
the english patient
Ah, Hana and Caravaggio, I have found you at last. You have allowed me to enter your world. And I am blissfully lost among the ruins in your company.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Lancet series
Poltics generally makes me angry, often makes me furious, and occasionally makes me cry.
The latest events in Gaza fell under all three categories. The announcement from The Lancet- one of, if not the, premier medical journals- made me cry. The admission from an objective, intelligent, and highly respected group (emphasis on objective) that the occupation is WRONG, the people suffering undeniable abuses, and the world needs to stop looking the other way.
The link.
Similar emotions today at the announcement that President Obama signed onto the UN Human Rights Council.
The pursuit of justice is the ultimate act of kindness, and I've already shared how deeply and violently acts of kindness move me.
If I could clap with all my body for The Lancet's admirable stance, I would be still worlds away from expressing my gratitude.
The latest events in Gaza fell under all three categories. The announcement from The Lancet- one of, if not the, premier medical journals- made me cry. The admission from an objective, intelligent, and highly respected group (emphasis on objective) that the occupation is WRONG, the people suffering undeniable abuses, and the world needs to stop looking the other way.
The link.
Similar emotions today at the announcement that President Obama signed onto the UN Human Rights Council.
The pursuit of justice is the ultimate act of kindness, and I've already shared how deeply and violently acts of kindness move me.
If I could clap with all my body for The Lancet's admirable stance, I would be still worlds away from expressing my gratitude.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
in the skin of a lion
The third time I'm delving in, each time reaching new depths. And clarity. This book that had always eluded me has now been undressed somewhat. It will eventually lose its magic- it has started with this reading- but I have lost no awe because most novels do not take three readings to own.
A passage:
The chaos and tumble of events. The first sentence of every novel should be: 'Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.' Meander if you want to get to town.
And what's amazing is that the novel has few characters, and as is often the case, they are linked. But the passage above is very much describing the novel in which it is embedded. The story is very human, the order faint, but there is nothing negative to be said about the time it takes to tell the story. I wish it would go on longer. I think what had happened before is that I was so seduced by the words that I was not capturing the story- my senses were saturated by the beauty. The third reading has allowed the beauty to dissipate like mist and reveal the reality (in a fictional sense)of the world he creates.
In a word, luscious.
I will reread The English Patient next. I want to understand how the characters that transcend the two novels leap from one fictional reality to another.
For those who have read either- in a word?
A passage:
The chaos and tumble of events. The first sentence of every novel should be: 'Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.' Meander if you want to get to town.
And what's amazing is that the novel has few characters, and as is often the case, they are linked. But the passage above is very much describing the novel in which it is embedded. The story is very human, the order faint, but there is nothing negative to be said about the time it takes to tell the story. I wish it would go on longer. I think what had happened before is that I was so seduced by the words that I was not capturing the story- my senses were saturated by the beauty. The third reading has allowed the beauty to dissipate like mist and reveal the reality (in a fictional sense)of the world he creates.
In a word, luscious.
I will reread The English Patient next. I want to understand how the characters that transcend the two novels leap from one fictional reality to another.
For those who have read either- in a word?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
kindness
There is something about the raw display of kindness that shakes me at the core. There's a commercial on tv- one person helps a stranger on the street, and someone sees them, and the person who saw the good deed then does something nice for some other stranger on the street, and a chain effect begins. And the things are small- picking up the gloves they dropped- and sometimes obvious- pushing someone out of the way so they don't get buried under a tall stack of boxes that topples to the sidewalk. I am shaken.
I once saw something like that in person that, for some reason (actually, one that I remember) really stood out for me. Sitting in Bethesda in front of B&N, there was a guitarist playing on the sidewalk, a windy day, trash blowing all around this guy who was sort of tucked away in a little rounded corner (a nook) of the building. This one guy, from the audience, stands up, walks towards the singer, and he picks up the trash around him, he clears his space so that he can play without the trash blowing all around him. That's it- he picks up the trash, throws it in the bin, and sits back down. Shaken.
And it reminds me of the ultimate shake from kindness- the passage in The Grapes of Wrath that I cannot get enough of. Just a vague recollection of it shakes me- like the tickles kids feel when you haven't even touched them but have only hinted that you are going to tickle them. Here it is:
And here's a story you can hardly believe, but it's true, and it's funny, and it's beautiful. There was a family of twelve and they were forced off the land. They had no car. They built a trailer out of junk and loaded it with their possessions. They pulled it out to the side of 66 and waited. And pretty soon a sedan picked them up. Five of them rode in the sedan and seven on the trailer, and a dog on the trailer. They got to California in two jumps. The man who pulled them fed them. And that's true. But how can such courage be, and such faith in their own species? Very few things would teach such faith.
The people in flight from the terror behind- strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that the faith is refired forever.
I once saw something like that in person that, for some reason (actually, one that I remember) really stood out for me. Sitting in Bethesda in front of B&N, there was a guitarist playing on the sidewalk, a windy day, trash blowing all around this guy who was sort of tucked away in a little rounded corner (a nook) of the building. This one guy, from the audience, stands up, walks towards the singer, and he picks up the trash around him, he clears his space so that he can play without the trash blowing all around him. That's it- he picks up the trash, throws it in the bin, and sits back down. Shaken.
And it reminds me of the ultimate shake from kindness- the passage in The Grapes of Wrath that I cannot get enough of. Just a vague recollection of it shakes me- like the tickles kids feel when you haven't even touched them but have only hinted that you are going to tickle them. Here it is:
And here's a story you can hardly believe, but it's true, and it's funny, and it's beautiful. There was a family of twelve and they were forced off the land. They had no car. They built a trailer out of junk and loaded it with their possessions. They pulled it out to the side of 66 and waited. And pretty soon a sedan picked them up. Five of them rode in the sedan and seven on the trailer, and a dog on the trailer. They got to California in two jumps. The man who pulled them fed them. And that's true. But how can such courage be, and such faith in their own species? Very few things would teach such faith.
The people in flight from the terror behind- strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that the faith is refired forever.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
david lynch
I saw Blue Velvet- after hearing how his creative energy is cultivated and transformed into film, I thought I'd like to see the results of the process.
Ugh. Yuck. Blug (sounds like it should be a word with a meaning that fits in this context).
Not worth the energy to move my fingers to say more.
Over and out.
Ugh. Yuck. Blug (sounds like it should be a word with a meaning that fits in this context).
Not worth the energy to move my fingers to say more.
Over and out.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
gifts
My sister sent me an email about Rawan:
(from my sister)
Can you believe this wonderful email from Rawan's teacher... I even learn a few things about emotional intelligence from Rawan when she tells me things like, "It was an accident. It's ok if sometimes people make mistakes." Yeah, yeah, yeah....
(from Rawan's teacher to my sister and brother-in-law)
Just wanted to send you both an email about how delightful and wonderful Rawan is. I've said it before, but want to say it again, she truly is a remarkable girl. She is such a caring friend, student, and child. Her kindness is felt by all. Her love of school is evident in everything she pursues. She is considerate and respectful to everyone. She is a bright and intelligent girl, and her inventive writing is only one example of her many academic achievements.
(me)
Makes me want to cry with pride and amazement at how this 5-year-old was born with this gift, this empathy.
When she was 4 years old, and I asked her if she would rather exchange the flashlight I bought her for something else or a different design, and she reassured me- no, it's nice, I really like this, I'll keep this one. As if I were the child and she the adult.
Mashallah.
(from my sister)
Can you believe this wonderful email from Rawan's teacher... I even learn a few things about emotional intelligence from Rawan when she tells me things like, "It was an accident. It's ok if sometimes people make mistakes." Yeah, yeah, yeah....
(from Rawan's teacher to my sister and brother-in-law)
Just wanted to send you both an email about how delightful and wonderful Rawan is. I've said it before, but want to say it again, she truly is a remarkable girl. She is such a caring friend, student, and child. Her kindness is felt by all. Her love of school is evident in everything she pursues. She is considerate and respectful to everyone. She is a bright and intelligent girl, and her inventive writing is only one example of her many academic achievements.
(me)
Makes me want to cry with pride and amazement at how this 5-year-old was born with this gift, this empathy.
When she was 4 years old, and I asked her if she would rather exchange the flashlight I bought her for something else or a different design, and she reassured me- no, it's nice, I really like this, I'll keep this one. As if I were the child and she the adult.
Mashallah.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
lorin
I don't know what to say.
Lorin was on the plane that crashed in Buffalo- she was on her way to her boyfiend's brother's wedding- she was so happy about this guy.
We spent a great day at the beach in NJ once- we lay out in the sun on an afternoon that holds a place in my memories, a peaceful time, warm, the soft yellow color of late afternoon.
And she gave me a stack of hand-me-down pants when we helped her move- we are exactly the same size. And she was only 30. And I can't even imagine what her parents must feel like. And her boyfriend- and all their plans and thoughts of life together.
She was open and honest and herself. She was kind. She was hopeful. And now she's gone.
Lorin was on the plane that crashed in Buffalo- she was on her way to her boyfiend's brother's wedding- she was so happy about this guy.
We spent a great day at the beach in NJ once- we lay out in the sun on an afternoon that holds a place in my memories, a peaceful time, warm, the soft yellow color of late afternoon.
And she gave me a stack of hand-me-down pants when we helped her move- we are exactly the same size. And she was only 30. And I can't even imagine what her parents must feel like. And her boyfriend- and all their plans and thoughts of life together.
She was open and honest and herself. She was kind. She was hopeful. And now she's gone.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
david lynch
An interesting and meditative book on creativity by David Lynch. One of my favorite parts-
Consciousness:
"Through meditation one realizes the unbounded. That which is unbounded is happy. There is no happiness in the small."
Upandishads
Little fish swim on the surface, but the big ones swim down below. If you can expand the container you're fishing in- your consciousness-you can catch bigger fish... You catch ideas at a deeper level. And creativity really flows. It makes life more like a fantastic game.
(back to me) Otherwise, glad to see the sun when I leave work in the afternoon. It's good to see the open skies from work- it feels like it's been a while since the sky looked so expansive, perhaps more to do with my inner state than anything in the outside world. Which brings us again to the David Lynch book- the expansion of the inner world, my favorite activity...
Consciousness:
"Through meditation one realizes the unbounded. That which is unbounded is happy. There is no happiness in the small."
Upandishads
Little fish swim on the surface, but the big ones swim down below. If you can expand the container you're fishing in- your consciousness-you can catch bigger fish... You catch ideas at a deeper level. And creativity really flows. It makes life more like a fantastic game.
(back to me) Otherwise, glad to see the sun when I leave work in the afternoon. It's good to see the open skies from work- it feels like it's been a while since the sky looked so expansive, perhaps more to do with my inner state than anything in the outside world. Which brings us again to the David Lynch book- the expansion of the inner world, my favorite activity...
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
coffee (yes, again)
I was going about it all wrong. Looking for coffee shops with bistro tables and chairs and an attempt to model the coffeeshop décor from quaint towns or intellectually heavy places where everyone philosophizes and nobody believes that any of it means anything outside on the streets.
Hoboken does it differently- the pizza place next to my house, a truly Italian place, has an espresso maker- they'll make you a cappucino for a dollar- because they think of coffee as an integral part of life- not something you need to sit at a bistro table and sip but, as it is in Italy, something you can stand at the bar and toss back on your way to work.
Cafe con leche at the Cuban place- you could not find a stronger espresso- it reached to the tips of your fingers and toes.
Coffee is everywhere. Not that I don't love my favorite coffeeshop, just that good coffee is actually understated in Hoboken. A secret to be uncovered.
PS Sadly many mom and pop places are closing because of the current financial environment.
Hoboken does it differently- the pizza place next to my house, a truly Italian place, has an espresso maker- they'll make you a cappucino for a dollar- because they think of coffee as an integral part of life- not something you need to sit at a bistro table and sip but, as it is in Italy, something you can stand at the bar and toss back on your way to work.
Cafe con leche at the Cuban place- you could not find a stronger espresso- it reached to the tips of your fingers and toes.
Coffee is everywhere. Not that I don't love my favorite coffeeshop, just that good coffee is actually understated in Hoboken. A secret to be uncovered.
PS Sadly many mom and pop places are closing because of the current financial environment.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
curl up into a ball
Just when my small-monster-sized fever blister seemed to have healed, just when I thought the skin near my lip was renewing itself and returning to its normal tone, the corner of my mouth at the edge of where lip and non-lip meet, an itch began and overnight developed into a new fever blister.
My acupuncturist looked at my tongue, and he put his hand on my shoulder in sympathy, shaking his head slowly (as if to say- oh, man- imagine a Korean accent). What? Stress, he said, pursing his lips, your tongue is a dark red color, the blood is stagnating.
Maybe it's the season, the cold, maybe it's the blood stagnating, but what I would really like to do is to drive out to the ocean, watch the waves from my room, curl up in bed, pick up a good novel (maybe another Alice McDermott?), and retreat from the world for a while.
It's all I want right now- for a few days, not one overnight, long enough that the end of the retreat is out of sight. Peace. The off-season beach- empty and soothing still.
My acupuncturist looked at my tongue, and he put his hand on my shoulder in sympathy, shaking his head slowly (as if to say- oh, man- imagine a Korean accent). What? Stress, he said, pursing his lips, your tongue is a dark red color, the blood is stagnating.
Maybe it's the season, the cold, maybe it's the blood stagnating, but what I would really like to do is to drive out to the ocean, watch the waves from my room, curl up in bed, pick up a good novel (maybe another Alice McDermott?), and retreat from the world for a while.
It's all I want right now- for a few days, not one overnight, long enough that the end of the retreat is out of sight. Peace. The off-season beach- empty and soothing still.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
escapes
Shutting down...
With the death of this friend, wondering if my family in Gaza is surviving...
My escape these last few days has been Charming Billy. A simple book about a small group of everyday people, unimportant in any real sense, one even aware of her insignificance. Beautifully written- although I've had a hard time focusing and read pages over and over to give them time to seep in (even rereading the first 25 or so pages after realizing I had not processed any of it).
It reminds me why I'm addicted to fiction- the escape it provides. Problems, true, but removed from you so you can just observe from a distance rather than participate.
I asked my 7-year-old if the movie she saw recently was better than the book- the book was WAYyy better- they didn't even include all the most important points! and then she began to list all the details. A book-er just like her aunt.
With the death of this friend, wondering if my family in Gaza is surviving...
My escape these last few days has been Charming Billy. A simple book about a small group of everyday people, unimportant in any real sense, one even aware of her insignificance. Beautifully written- although I've had a hard time focusing and read pages over and over to give them time to seep in (even rereading the first 25 or so pages after realizing I had not processed any of it).
It reminds me why I'm addicted to fiction- the escape it provides. Problems, true, but removed from you so you can just observe from a distance rather than participate.
I asked my 7-year-old if the movie she saw recently was better than the book- the book was WAYyy better- they didn't even include all the most important points! and then she began to list all the details. A book-er just like her aunt.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
in threes
Good-bye to a dear friend whom we lost last night. He was away from home on business and so was not near his wife, was not near his children who live overseas and who must have received the call in the middle of the night that we all fear. Nothing good comes out of this- even those silver-lining people can't argue this- it is simply what it is- a loss.
A block from work the street was taped off, policemen (all male) were drawing lines on the ground and measuring the distance of the car from the sidewalk, making calculations perhaps of how fast the car was moving when, based on the bags strewn in the middle of the street with what looked like groceries or lunch or something scattered all over, it had apparently hit someone. The front left side of the pickup was dented pretty seriously- it must have been turning at a not-so-slow speed.
This afternoon a plane crashed into the Hudson- a US Air commuter plane with 150 people or so on it. We were getting out of a meeting when it fell but could see the tail and the ferries rescuing people and the line of sirened and ready vehicles on West Side Highway waiting to take the injured to hospitals.
It's an eerie feeling- losing someone and being what feels like a ghost (a living ghost) trapped in the land of the living. A period of mourning allows us to stand at the edge and acknowledge the fine line that separates us from the dead. When we return to our lives we are able to focus on living. Today was surreal- the living and dead playing their roles in the same space with too faint a delineation.
A block from work the street was taped off, policemen (all male) were drawing lines on the ground and measuring the distance of the car from the sidewalk, making calculations perhaps of how fast the car was moving when, based on the bags strewn in the middle of the street with what looked like groceries or lunch or something scattered all over, it had apparently hit someone. The front left side of the pickup was dented pretty seriously- it must have been turning at a not-so-slow speed.
This afternoon a plane crashed into the Hudson- a US Air commuter plane with 150 people or so on it. We were getting out of a meeting when it fell but could see the tail and the ferries rescuing people and the line of sirened and ready vehicles on West Side Highway waiting to take the injured to hospitals.
It's an eerie feeling- losing someone and being what feels like a ghost (a living ghost) trapped in the land of the living. A period of mourning allows us to stand at the edge and acknowledge the fine line that separates us from the dead. When we return to our lives we are able to focus on living. Today was surreal- the living and dead playing their roles in the same space with too faint a delineation.
Friday, January 09, 2009
generations imprisoned
When I think of my cousins who were born into the prison that is Gaza, it pains me to think of the state of their dreams and aspirations- their spirit. Poverty is a potent depressor. But being locked up with no way out and no hope for a normal life (how can it be normal if your prison guards control the food that reaches you, the days your schools are open, etc) makes you either give up, get angry- especially those young men, or settle for the goals that are achievable there- to live out your days forever in this little patch of land, barely venturing into the Mediterranean for fear of getting shot at, hoping to get a position teaching at a UN school, hoping that your family survives- survival requiring all your efforts.
They tell people we have pulled out of Gaza and now the Palestinians govern themselves when the reality is the prison guards have just moved back behind the walls of the prison and let the people decide a leader for this internal life they cannot escape. Lord of the Flies. Limited resources, all the pressures of living encaged, and anyone could expect that the winners were not going to be the kindly grandmothers and grandfathers. We've all seen prison shows on tv- gangs form and power goes to the strongest.
How can humanity allow that children be born into a state of imprisonment- not only because they are innocent but also because their parents are innocent. Their parents are being vilified when they are merely refugees who had been living in the houses of their parents and many working the land passed down to them. How ironic that Hamas is sending rockets into Ashkelon- my father was born there, his family were among the refugees who fled to camps near Gaza, and when my great-grandfather once visited his house in Ashkelon the Jews who were allowed to occupy it (someone else's house- even the curtains in the windows had not been changed- he recognized them) would not let him see his house- he fainted on his doorstep.
How convenient it is that many do not understand fully where the Palestinians came from. Those details are blurred well by the aggressors.
And in order to deal with the people they have turned the refugees into prisoners and tried to convince the world they are guilty- responsible for their situation.
They tell people we have pulled out of Gaza and now the Palestinians govern themselves when the reality is the prison guards have just moved back behind the walls of the prison and let the people decide a leader for this internal life they cannot escape. Lord of the Flies. Limited resources, all the pressures of living encaged, and anyone could expect that the winners were not going to be the kindly grandmothers and grandfathers. We've all seen prison shows on tv- gangs form and power goes to the strongest.
How can humanity allow that children be born into a state of imprisonment- not only because they are innocent but also because their parents are innocent. Their parents are being vilified when they are merely refugees who had been living in the houses of their parents and many working the land passed down to them. How ironic that Hamas is sending rockets into Ashkelon- my father was born there, his family were among the refugees who fled to camps near Gaza, and when my great-grandfather once visited his house in Ashkelon the Jews who were allowed to occupy it (someone else's house- even the curtains in the windows had not been changed- he recognized them) would not let him see his house- he fainted on his doorstep.
How convenient it is that many do not understand fully where the Palestinians came from. Those details are blurred well by the aggressors.
And in order to deal with the people they have turned the refugees into prisoners and tried to convince the world they are guilty- responsible for their situation.
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