I'm just thinking..

“Ow ow ow.”

“What?” Q says with a rise in tone.

“The cat is climbing my back like you scale a mountain, only one made of cheese,” I screech.

“Made of cheese?” The eyebrow lifts.

“Yes, as in he is sinking in his claws!”

“Harrumph.” As she turns back to her computer screen. So much for parental affection returned. Elder abuse!


All the taxis in Morocco have a cover over the dash of the car to protect the leather from the relentless sun; they range from plain to very fancy indeed.


The constant ever-present migrating crop of the developing world is plastic carry bags. You see them as they line the fields outside the Fez Marjane like a carefully planted crop, and in Rabat along the streets of the Medina and the market.


The best French fries in the entire world are made in Morocco- period, end of discussion.


Coming into the Blue Gate into the Fez medina one is always inundated with offers of a guide. My standard line that evolved was, ”No. I don’t need a guide I live here.” Which was for the most part effective. On this day the chap pulls right up, cocks his fez over one eye, spreads his hands in the universal symbol of “I have no weapons.” and says, “But Madame, I am NOT as guide, I am a HUSTLER.” It was priceless and left us in giggles.


It’s funny how people pick up habits. I never, never bite my nails because my governess, Mrs. Davidson for whose approval I was always striving, said, “People of character do not bite their nails. It shows a lack of control and a tendency to become slovenly.” Of course she also said, and quite rightly, “Cursing of any sort is a form of laziness or an ignorance of the English language which contains quite enough words to give anyone a verbal thrashing of the most severe sort.” Yes, so the second one did not take…
Sally told me when she was young she saw several Grace Kelly movies and was so taken with her beauty, grace, and charm that she tried to emulate her. Specifically “She folded her handkerchief just so when she needed it. I then decided I would never blow my nose again, just dab.” Isn’t that sweet?

One of the trials of shopping in Morocco is that you can find something you like once, or in only one size and perhaps never again; from candles to shoes.

There is a school of thought that writing, the forming and practicing of spiritual beliefs, and masturbation should all be practiced alone, and you should wash up after.

Q to M.C.: “Your balls better get bigger or she’s not going to be able to cut them off.” Speaking of course of the upcoming appointment with the vet. Now I am no lobbyist or public relations persons, but I am a manipulative person (now, now you who think it is a bad word, I never talk anyone into anything they either didn’t really want to do in the first place or that they shouldn’t do) but I am fairly certain that is not a winning argument for being neutered. I’m just sayin’…
It rather strikes me like the unbelievable, “If you don’t stop crying I’m going to give you something to cry about.” Now, stick with me here, if the child is crying does he not ALREADY have something to cry about? Hmmm?

Wouldn’t having multiple personality disorder (MPD) be a good thing in some ways? Someone to share the blame, the guilt, the work, the popcorn… Would you qualify for the double rate on those package tours?

I don’t know, but I think it might be a bad thing when you come to know your pharmacist so well he invites you home for dinner with his family. What do you think?

Just as chocolate is the cure for all ills in Australia, apparently the cure for all ill in Morocco is the sea, or olives, or both. My pharmacist and my housekeeper, and the landlord have suggested a visit to the sea (out the door and around the corner) as a cure for my migraines. I will try anything once..

We get our fresh squeezed orange juice every day from the nice man who has a hanut on the corner of the next street over. He is obsessed with American Rock n’ Roll music. When we go to his stand, or just pass by on the way to the Fort’s gate it is surreal. You hear anything from Guns and Roses to The Allmen Brothers, or Elvis!

We now have our very own police station in the Oudayas, twenty-four hour coverage. Not that there is much for them to do I think, still it’s good for the tourists. From what I have observed Moroccan policemen don’t eat donuts, they eat the small cake pastries.

There is a too die for lingerie shop in Agdal called “Vie en Rose”. The merchandise is luscious, silk and lace galore. All the best French brands. Q has her eye on a white silk nightgown for the honeymoon.

I have to go to Club Moving now and work out. Ug and yea. I am going to have an hour’s foot massage after, so really no sympathy huh?