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...

cosmo

From Cosmo magazine. A magazine for women with an article telling women where men are going to meet women.

moon shots

The moon over Manhattan. Hoboken definitely has the best view.

duty

That wicked, wicked word.

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.

beach

I love the colors in these- the storms, the water, the flowers, the sailboat, the grays, the greens, the blues.

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.

Walking home today I stopped at Les Dames for coffee- the owner remembered that I had been looking for an apartment near there a year ago- literally a year ago when it was still her (almost said 'their' because of Les Dames) first week in business. Still the best coffee. And delicious chocolate croissant- the Friday summer hour treat. I heard a bit about Hoboken politics- if you don't know people who can do you favors (very mafioso), it's tougher to have a business.





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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

what?!

What, Kris, American Idol Kris? Are you people crazy??!

I mean, really, can you beat this? Mad World or One (a classic)!!

This guy is phenomenal... How could they (ie, those ditsy teenage girls)?

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.)

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.

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.

go go go

go UConn, go UConn, go UConn...

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.

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.

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?

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.

blame me

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

replay

When someone dies, my mother passes away all over again.

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.

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.

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.

Gaza

Difficult to watch the news or read the papers. Might it be even worse for a victim if he/she is blamed for it (while the world watches) than to be a victim with nobody noticing?

Someone at work today said- they can't play well together in the sandbox- implying children of equal age and size fighting over something trivial. The power is not evenly distributed- the bully is beating the smaller, weaker child who has been starved and subjected to psychological abuse and who has been born within the confines of this sandbox (almost literally- sand and a wall/fence/border packed with people but otherwise empty) with little chance to leave.

For those who think the two sides are equally responsible- open your eyes and ears, read the papers from any country around the world, look at the data (numbers), ask yourself who among humanity would choose to live the life of a Gazan as it is presented in the media (violent people being difficult- fighting for more and never satisfied- nonpeaceful) and who has been suffocated and is gasping for air.

shades of gray

We are young and are attracted to color- what is your favorite color? It's never gray or beige or nondescript. It's something bold or primary. Red! Blue! Pink(!) (pink is the exception here)

Then we become jaded. And what I see that means is that the world turns gray- not puke green or even dirty brown- but shades of gray. Things that were black and white no longer belong to one camp or the other- no enemies or friends, no with us or against us, not even a dark side and the force.

It is not an unlikable gray but a place many are uncomfortable with. And I would even venture to say that you earn the title of adult (maybe of enlightened adult) when you accept the grayness of the world.

Someone told me an old Buddhist saying- when we are young, the mountain is a mountain; when we are a little older, the mountain becomes something more; when we reach a certain level of enlightenment, the mountain again is a mountain.

A mountain all the same, but perhaps a little grayer.

acupuncture oohs and ohs

I started some acupuncture treatments for my oh-so-sensitive skin. All's well until today one needle goes into my stomach area- my abdomen- and a sharp pain makes it's way through to the left side of my body. Mr Park's reply- oh that's very unusual.

He tells me to cut out dairy- how is that possible- cut off my ears but don't ask an Arab to stop eating cheese and yoghurt. I had a soy latte in my short-lived attempt to try it out and it made me want to cry (and spit up).

He also told me to not eat after 6pm. Say what?? 6 hours of no food and go to bed hungry?! He hadn't even asked me when I go to bed before setting a 6pm curfew. Why torture myself? I told him my big meal is lunch and I have something light in the evenings- toast and tea and... He chuckled! Toast is not light- he laughed at me!

One yoga thing I heard recently and appreciated- the way you do one thing is the way you do everything.

So you do everything and you take what you want out of each. My approach. Alice in Wonderland's too I would think...

You could have expected it- a night shot of downtown- the bottom where the island tapers and tapers and then ends. It looks like it drops off into the black night.

One of- what- thousands and thousands of pictures of the New York City skyline at night?

But how many people have stood within a few centimeters of where I stood- there in Hoboken- at the same time of night? How many at the same point in the season- nevermind the weather?

We are- each of us- living lives that will eventually dissolve into the great history of humanity- leaving no trace. But our lives are still our own and different in the light or angle or subtle textures. A second perfect flower doesn't minimize the beauty of the first- a field of flowers needs no defense.

sub-standards

Chocolates on sale- now only 7.99!! New marketing strategy- charge more??

How whimsical!

People in line looked nervous when I took a picture. I find things like this so amusing it's really a surprise I'm not more carefree and happy-go-lucky in life.

Is it not beautiful? The buildings on the margins look like they are leaning in towards the center- like the clouds are so magnificent they have altered the gravitational center of the earth upwards. No small feat when it comes to the Empire State Building.

pictures of the girls

by popular demand (trust me)...

introducing Bayaan:

Iman and (Build-a-Bear) Stephanie (from Ohio):

Rawan taking a moment to meditate (chanting ommm) while her mom straightens her hair for the special occasion:

Iman and Rawan in response to "pose like adults":

They look like the American Gothic painting by Grant Wood (without the pickfork).

the girls (on Bayaan's first gift from Khalto Rana):

And their creations- first Iman's coupons (more like gift certificates)- note the bar codes. The one she made for herself was a "going to bed early" coupon while she gave her sister a chore ("making the table at dinner")!

The video game she created (with different "screens" for the different games that you can flip in and out of place and the two player joysticks).

And Rawan's mini table (with a turkey on top you can't see) and chair (made of paper)-I love miniature things!:

the mini theme continues: this mini birthday party tucked away in a corner of the room, the entire thing set in the molding around the room (what is that called?)- my favorite part is the the banner that says "happy birthday monkey boy- name Duncan", but I love the mini-streamers and the mini-presents all lined up, carefully hand-crafted one by one

They are constantly making and playing and singing and going and going and going and cooing over their sister (Rawan: ooohhh, you have the cutest little socks on, yes Boon-Boon).

niece clips

Rawan (5 years old) sees the space shuttle landing and says: I want to go on that thing- what is that?! My sister replies: it's the space shuttle. Oh yeah, I've heard of that- it's like this kind of rocket ship. (Even though I've heard of kids wanting to be astronauts, it was cool to see that pure interest in this thing that can be easily mistaken for an airplane.)

Iman (7.5 years old) is obsessed with Build-a-Bear. She knows prices and latest releases and absolutely everything about the online site. She says: I gave fedback. ?? She corrects: feedback. They asked if I was completely satisfied but at the cashier (pronounced casher) there were like 7 people in line and nobody there!! I look over at my sister and she has her eyebrows raised- the first she's heard of her 7-year-old giving feedback. But with Iman it's hard to be surprise. She pulls out a box: this is my build-a-bear mailbox. She saves every piece of mail- birth certificates and catalogs and (!) letters she has received in response to her questions (where can I get my bear restitched? Build-a-bear hospital!). She offers to tell me about each piece of mail but something distracts us.

Bayaan discovers her hand. And relative to the magnificance of this discovery says little (nothing comprehensible). Here she is discovering the hand...

thanksgiving

I'm bubbling over with thanks. The little bubbles are bursting and releasing little poofs of sparkle, much like synaptic vesicles spontaneously being released. They add up in the background where you don't even realize it- it determines your levels of excitability. I'm excitable!

a gesture life

It was not- by any stretch- a bad book. But it was only as good as a book about a detached older man can be.

No, I take that back. If anyone has seen (or read) Steve Martin's Shopgirl, then clearly that's not an accurate statement.

Let me start again. It was a story with strong character development but was of a character practically devoid of emotion. And while I appreciate how well the author explained how this mancane to be as he was- orphaned in a sense and through horrible war-related attrocities (what else can war bring with it?)- I cannot say I related to the main character, the protagonist, the hero.

Perhaps if I read this book at a later stage in my life I will better appreciate the pensive near-death feverless acceptance of life, but now it leaves me a little bit annoyed with the character and wanting him to pull his head out of his arse. Did I mention that it reminded me very much of the style of the Japanese writing of the English butler- what was that called? Stiff and cold- but well written and smooth reading.

It seems it has been a while since I read anything that absorbed me- not my mind but - what I can only refer to as- my soul. Perhaps it will take the discovery of a new favorite author- a new sea of tropical waters to explore. Perhaps it will take a reresding of one of Coetzee's or Oondatje's bests. Double vowels seem to be the thing to keep an eye out for- something with an aa or and ii or strangely a uu. Suggestions- as always- are welcome.

the view from here

Some pics of the view from work. Not from my desk, but all the same spectacular. And this wasn't even a sunny day. Even Jersey City is beautiful from this high up.



The Statue of Liberty is also visible- I can't zoom in with this camera, but you get the idea...

woo-hoo

WOO HOOO!!!

I think you all know what I'm talkin' about.

(sigh of relief)

shoes and girlfriends

I have been wearing the same pair of black shoes to work practically every day for the past three months. I've added brown shoes to match my one pair of beigish pants but wear the black pair 4 days out of 5. Give or take a day.

Well just last week I was admitted into the pack at work. Two women with whom I work- on two separate days- independently commented that they like my shoes (the black ones). It couldn't be more obvious really- three months after starting, I was given what amounts to as an unspoken hug, an enfolding into the bosom of the family.

Time to decorate my desk-take off me shoes, so to speak- looks like I'll be staying a while.

it almost made me cry

I am proud to announce the existence of a movie from Jordan made for a
global audience (that is my own definition of the movie). I have not
seen it, but the preview to the movie almost made me cry. I can't
imagine what the movie will be like.

Check out the preview/info: Captain Abu Raed.

I saw this around the time of Eid, the Islamic holiday. I spoke with my family in Jordan, and while nothing exciting was going on, I started to realize that the life I had there, the one I associate with Jordan, no longer exists. It is not that I am absent from it and can go back for a little taste of it if I buy a plane ticket for the right season- it is dead.

My mother's family used to get together for Eid on the first day (from what I remember) of the holiday (it's a 3-day holiday). We used to all (except for those with grudges or against whom grudges were held)get together at my grandmother's house. She and/or my aunt (as my grandmother got older, it was mostly my aunt- who lived with her) would prepare a big stuffed lamb. The day before, my uncle would buy it, and there would be a lot of shuffling of things in the fridge as space was made for it, gathering of pans, measuring of oven widths, etc. My aunt (I remember this more clearly) would chop up a lot of onions, and almost knead spices (and I think lemon or vinegar) into the onions- allspice, black pepper, salt, etc. Then the lamb was cleaned, rubbed all over with the onion-spices, and left in the fridge to marinate.

Of course, all sorts of other things were prepared on the side-delicious grape leaves and stuffed mini-zucchinis over a bed of lamb ribs- nobody made those better than my aunt. And salads and maybe mnukhiyah (the green sauce, as my nieces call it). And when the food was put on the table, my uncle would cut and serve the meat. And there were plates of yoghurt and pickles and olives scattered around the table.
The table too full of food to fit our plates comfortably, but we would manage. The kids delegated to eat elsewhere- in the informal living room (for the little ones) or near the dining table in the formal living room (for those of us who were older).

The afternoon would be spent eating- after lunch came tea, then fruits, then coffee and desserts. The desserts hold a special place in my memory- the pastries filled with pistachios or walnuts, sprinkled with powdered sugar, or with dates. And the Eid chocolates, waiting for guests in the crystal covered bowl, that we would take
right before we left.

Even though we had seen the entire family on the first day, we would later that day or the next day make the rounds to each of the families' houses for a short visit, where we would get tea and those pastries again (and you could compare and choose whose were the best)and then coffee and chocolates before you left.

Now, my family gets together on the second day (the first day the families go to their other side). They meet in (one of) my deceased aunt's house, and the lamb is purchased already prepared. It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

So, I felt homesick for the home I left, which no longer exists because the people do not reside there and because that life has, as with everything eventually, died.

It was those memories, together with scenes of Amman, together with the anticipated Eid dinner at the home of a family friend (for them, that life has not yet died), that made me homesick. And even if I probably could not get to the neighborhood in which the film is set, the seemingly endless hills of Amman, they spoke my language and they reminded me of home.

organic milk

Can anyone explain to me why organic milk lasts about a billion times longer than regular milk? It's amazing. I had one container of organic milk, bought about 2 months ago (scary, maybe) and one container of regular milk (well, in reality it is lactaid, but I've seen this numerous times with regular milk), bought about a month ago (also, maybe scary).

Lactaid bad, organic milk good.

Inexplicable...

lapel pins

I love Obama, but a double flag pin??

http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=20281881

Since when is Israel the official second half of the US of A?

Does this not bother anyone here?

Since we're on the subject of politics, a couple of points from last night's VP debates:
- I thought Biden did a great job when he used the word "maverick", he did not skirt around it, he took it on and showed how ridiculous it was. If they want to pretend McCain's a cowboy, well, I guess they need to see how absurd it is to hear others call him a cowboy.
- Palin tried to pull out her aces, using the "I'm from a cozy little state" and "I'm down with the people" and all of those little trick that seem to work on the American public. And Biden was right there with her- talking about his family, but not in the same tone. And from what I saw on tv today, when his voice cracked yesterday when he talked mentioned his late wife and child, the Palin audience boo-ed him. Didn't anyone teach them maners? Respect your opponent, have some integrity, all of that?
- I love the fact checking that Biden did. Palin wasn't in a position to do that- she doesn't know enough of the history. But Biden could call her on each of the mistakes- and could point out that for the very same thing she was accusing Obama of having voted badly on, McCain had voted the same way. She didn't finish her homework- she only looked up the encyclopedia entry on Obama!

farewell, olsson's

When I met Olsson's, I fell in love. I was loyal, dedicated to buying books from what I believed was one of the three stores of this local chain. Yes, there were jokes- I supported the local, independent bookstore, which was becoming a local giant with more like 8 or 9 stores. But still- a local DC chain. And I was smitten- I shifted my affections to now loving a successful, growing, local bookstore.

Well, the store in Georgetown closed, then the one in Bethesda closed. And I have to admit- I began to roam- B&N and Amazon became more attractive, more convenient.

I visited the Chinatown store when it closed, not long ago. The only stores left were those in Virginia. When I flew out of National, I would go visit the Olsson's there- but I didn't go to Virginia often. We drifted apart.

And then the final notice- Olsson's is closing for good.

So it ends.

empire state building celebrates

The Empire State Building is celebrating Eid al Iftar. I think that's
great- and was a little surprised to hear it. Apparently it wears a lot of dresses it wears:
http://www.esbnyc.com/tourism/tourism_lightingschedule.cfm.

Check out the little footnote:
During spring and fall bird migration seasons and particularly on cloudy, humid and/or foggy nights, when large numbers of birds are seen flying near the building, the tower lights are turned off. Observatory personnel on the 86th floor outdoor deck notify the engineers. The birds are attracted by the lights and there is a danger they will fly into the building and be killed.

Eid Mubarak.

Introducing Bayaan

Here she is at one month. Precious! Big eyes, apparently blond highlights. She looks a lot like Iman did at her age.

Rawan wanted to eat and was told to wait just a minute until my sister finished feeding Bayaan. Rawan says: Bayaan is always eating. She's more important to you than I am.

Wow, a 5-year-old who can so easily express her feelings!

When Rawan was born, Iman (2.5-years-old) just said- we don't need her, why don't you throw her away...

birthday wishes

My 5-year-old niece and I have been having a funny little exchange over the phone regarding her birthday present. Her birthday was planned as an outdoor party, and because of rains from Hurricane Ike and the challenges of having a newborn in the house (her new little baby sister!), the date of the party was uncertain. So, it was difficult for me to plan to be there, and I tried to convey this to her on the phone.

Me: Rawan, I'm going to try to come to your birthday party, but I am not sure I can make it because you don't know exactly what day it will be.

Rawan: That's OK. If you can't come, you can just send me my present in the mail.

A practical solution. But it's not that she didn't really care either way...

Me: OK, but I'd really like to be there with you on your birthday.

Rawan: Yeah, me, too.

Me: Rawan, what would you like?

Rawan: Anything!

Me: Did you ask your mommy and daddy for anything specifically?

Rawan: No. You just get a present, and you open it, and you see what it is.

Me: OK, so you want it to be a surprise.

The follow-up conversation where we talked about the details of the present exchange after her party.

Rawan: You can just send me the present in the mail or you can bring it when you come for Eid (the Islamic holiday). But you can send itin the mail- that way I don't have to wait for it.

Giving me options, but sharing her preference.

Me: OK, tonight when I get home, I'll go online and see how long itwill take to send it to you.

Rawan: OK, but you can just go to the store, and buy it, and, and,and put it in the mail. That way you don't have to wait for it.

A pause as I think how funny she is in her subtle ways.

Rawan: But you can go tomorrow because today when you go home you maybe tired.

Me: Oh, Rawan, you are so sweet.

Rawan: Why? I didn't do anything.

when to touch people

During orientation, HR says there are two times it's OK to touch someone at work.

One, with a firm handshake.

Two, when someone falls, you can ASK them if it's OK to help them up.

That's more like one and a half times. Since we don't greet our co-workers daily with a handshake, here's hoping for more falls at work.

New Jersey

A few more thoughts on Hoboken, New Jersey. I'd say it's not as polished as DC/Bethesda. Of course, this has to do with what part of DC you compare to, and so I'm comparing to the areas that I've lived in- Georgetown and Bethesda.

- There are a lot of people who smoke. Young people,young mothers, deep voices. It fits my idea of "new jersey culture", but it's pretty sad to see.

- There are a lot of parents (particularly mothers) YELLING at their kids in the street. Not for anything that needs yelling- no kids running into high-traffic streets. No, this is just communicating through YELLING instead of talking. Wow, almost makes me turn around and tell the mother to zip it- if you can't use your indoor voice, keep it shut.

- The upside of less polished are lots of family-run stores and restaurants. I've already mentioned the Italian population, and there are Italian delis/bodegas/ba'alaat (in Arabic) on the corners of streets in the middle of the neighborhood. You see signs written on posterboard "On vacation until August XX". There's one Indian store that looks like it's run by a band of sisters, and I can imagine that it's just them sitting around deciding what to add to their merchandise. I think I've already mentioned the coffeeshop I like- a young woman who made the price list at home with sticky stenciled letters (she told me in confidence- don't spread it around). Some chain fast food places, but mostly mom-and-pops and independent places.

It turns out it's hard to maintain the mom-and-pop even in Hoboken. There's a Barnes and Noble (kind of in keeping with the atmosphere of Hoboken, it's kind of cute and compact and cozy). There is also an independent used bookstore. However, in order for this independent bookstore to survive, the mayor's office or family or something actually helps support it financially- it's subsidized. Kind of funny, kind of sad.

Still likin' it!

Oh, and didn't even realize there was a tornado warning- never thought of tornadoes in NYC!!

Hoboken

Now in Hoboken. It seems everytime I say Hoboken, I get a comment on what a funny name that is. Turns out, according to the source of all knowledge (the internet), it is either from the name of a Flemish town or from a Native American (sorry, can't remember the tribe) word meaning something about peace pipes or something.

Here's the place (pre-moving in).



Livin' on Park Ave...



Here are some things I've noticed about Hoboken:
- There are a ton of funeral homes. There seems to be one on every other corner, practically. Considering Hoboken is a mile squared (that seems to be something everyone here is very proud of), that makes for a LOT of funeral homes. That might be related to the next point...

- ...which is that there are a LOT of old Italian babushkas (yes, I know that's Russian, but you get my meaning) wearing cute floral print cotton dresses and sitting on their doorsteps and cute little old Italian men wearing all sorts of great hats and belts up towards their necks.

- There is a shortage of good coffee shops. There are two (and a half) Starbucks- the one closest to me is the half- it's not open yet. Not sure what's going on- it's been in the same state for the past month. I've found one excellent coffee place (great espresso foam that makes you melt), but it's at the other end of town (yes, I know, it's only a mile squared) and, more importantly, doesn't have any tables. So, you can sit along the windowsill, but it's hard to spend a lot of time there reading or writing.

- The aforementioned coffeeshop is owned by an actress/artist want-to-be, apparently, which turns out to be a good part of the population here in Hoboken. So, the next point is about the diversity of the population here. I'm not sure how to say this in a PC-appropriate way, but it's obviously not just white-collar (like I'd say Bethesda almost exclusively is). It's different socio-economic classes, different colors, different religions...

- There are a TON of Christian churches of all types. Seventh Day Adventist in Spanish, for example, which I'm not sure I've seen before. And all sorts of Christian scenes on people's doorsteps and in their front windows- there's one I need to put up a picture of. Stay tuned. There are virgin Marys in a bunch of gardens, etc. There are also a good number of synagogues, but as far as I can tell, no mosque. Well, unless it's in a regular building, definitely no mosque.

Settling in... Cute place, amazing views of NYC. Check it out...