and that's why I can't come to work today

This is a writing prompt I did for Writer’s Digest after a particularly festive day of shopping in Fez: “and that’s why I can’t come to work today”. I hope it will give you a chuckle.

-and if you have not read my article on TopBlogMagazine please do so.


"You're not going to believe this, but when I sprang out of bed this morning anxious to be on my way to work, I tripped over the pile of carpets laid out on the floor for my inspection by Ali last evening from the “Everyone else has Shit” shop. I stretched up to the table and reached for my djellaba as it is forty degrees with no heat in the Villa. Shivering, I pulled it over my head. I was temporarily blinded, stepped forward, and I fell down; but I missed the pile of carpets and landed instead on the silver tea set sitting on the bronze table surrounded by the twenty crystal tea glasses set out by the chap from the "Shocking Prices" shop in the Medina. I managed to untangle myself just in time to miss being scalded by the green mint tea left on the bedside hand carved by tiny Berbers during a sand storm table left by the "Native Artist Selections" shop yesterday. I pulled myself erect and spotted my laptop buried under the pile of "best quality" scarves and shawls from the "These are all priceless antiques from Rabat" shop on Mohammad V Boulevard. Since the electricity was off again and the bathroom was flooded by a leak, I thought, "If I can only get to my laptop I will be able to get to work - even with dirty teeth and a pressing need to use the toilet." In the darkness (no lights remember) I made my way across the room bumping into the camel bone chest holding the two hundred pairs of earrings and necklaces with the hand of Fatima there for my protection from the "Everything Fifty Percent off just For You" shop. I fell forward, but managed to grab my laptop on the way to the freezing marble floor. I inched forward to the door, crawling over the miniature to life-size Tagines from the "Authentic and Lowest prices in Fez" shop. I felt certain of victory. I stood and stepped off the front stoop, where I was squashed by a camel caravan passing by on the way to the Sahara, and that's why I can't come to work today."

some of this and some of that..

…trying something new with the color scheme for easier reading. What do you think?

I am the Featured Post this week over at TopBlogMagazine. Ta da. Go, read, comment.


One of the things we have come to observe in Morocco is the love of high drama, from Othello to the love affair with soap operas. You see the soap operas playing on the televisions in the cleaners, the hannuts, and almost any home you visit. Q’s tutor, when discussing a particular story line (she knows all the characters, and the details of their television lives) said, “He cut his wrist for her love. Don’t you love that?" Sigh.
Q of course thought she had fallen right off her cracker. In the bookstores I have noted a 3:1 ratio in the popular books section in favor of romance novels, in Arabic, to any other theme. In order to attain true popularity the romances must be tragic.

I was watching “I Robot”, again, and not only to see Will Smith in his underwear, albeit that does not hurt, but to observe how in some science fiction, with notable exceptions like “Blade Runner”, the directors and writers picture the far, and even the near future as having technology advance all in one even motion, such as the highway system. “I Robot” is set in 2035, which is not really that far in the future. Now I will buy the advancement of robots to that level, but the Brooklyn Bridge torn completed down and all the highway systems and cars converted to the new modern automatic system shown? I don’t buy it. Both in India and here in Morocco I see the technology of the 20th, and 21st centuries lurching forward, not progressing in a smooth line. Everyone has a mobile and a satellite television, but very few have a computer or libraries. Transportation in the larger cities here is more even than that in Delhi where you still find the donkey and the Mercedes stopping side by side for the red light.

Moroccans drink orange juice with pastries.

Q’s Arabic tutor has never read Homer's the Iliad and The Odyssey.

I saw both runners and walkers in all manner of dress, djellabas to shorts, in the park with the eucalyptus grove in 32 to 35 degrees C and more heat! I’m not at all sure but that is taking the beneficial effects of exercise to a new low.

The private veterinarians in Rabat volunteer and rotate time at the free clinics in town.

Speaking with a man over coffee, who is a teacher, about politics he said, “I would like to be king.” He said this eyes shining, with true longing in his voice. When I gave him my view, that it is much more fun and safer to a degree to be the power behind the throne, such as the prime minister, he could not comprehend my reasoning. His view of being the King is that it is all fun and having lots of money with no responsibilities.

All over Rabat stand huge walls for the forts and palaces making me feel quite at home. It reminds me that the Welsh are the true great builders of defensive castles.

Walking along any given boulevard at four to ten in the evening the men are lined in at the sidewalk cafes three to four deep, with no women, and I think, “Mercy chaps get yourself a girl!” But this is the way here, and you do see the occasionally woman and at different times of the day more of them, yet the overwhelming majority of those taking their leisure from morning through the evening are men.

In the Medina you see children running and snacking on donuts (sfinj) that are mounted on strings tied in a circle for eating. They are delicious and come in the larger hand held size as well. You stand at the hannut while they make them hot and fresh. When you sink your teeth into the hot, fresh, sugary, dough it is delightful.

Moroccan men, unlike their American counterparts, have no trouble asking for directions. They still don’t stop, but rather roll down the window and shout to the nearest man in a car. The conversation can continue for some blocks.

Shopkeepers in the Medina will not tell you the price first on any item when you ask, the reply is, “It is very inexpensive, very cheap.” No matter what you are looking at.

Watching the young daughter of the orange juice man brings a tear to my eye. The earnestness in her actions, the measured actions of squeezing the oranges, cut the foam off the top, and wiping the bottle with such pride in her work as she substitutes for her father to take a break in his long day.

The Oudayas has the oldest mosque in Rabat

The housekeeper continues to make the beds with the sheets along the latitude rather than longitudinal! Why is that?

Courage

I woke this day to a pleasant surprise, finding on my blog an award from one of the most entertaining and tug-at-your-heart bloggers I have read, darth sardonic. An American whose wife is serving in the Armed Forces overseas, he is the stay-at-home-dad to two of the most prolifically quip-py youngsters on the continent. He has said they have special challenges, but obviously not in the quick come back department. His blog is full of the same heartache and joy that all of us who are parents know, and the struggle to get through life having done your best, that everyone can recognize. He is one of those people I am sure never to have known except for the Blog world, but I hope someday to sit down and have a cup of tea with him and meet his family who I feel I have come to know. My favorite part of his blog is his obvious love and devotion to his wife and children, not voiced as Keats but more “Pulp Fiction” meets “The Fockers”.

To my mind he is indeed Courageous, and to receive such an accolade from him is an honor. I thank you sir.

This is an award I shall take great delight in passing on,

My first awardees are Pamela Jean at Coming 2 Terms, and KarenO at Upon Awakening. My reasons for these two choices are numerous: these two women have taught me about the heartbreak of infertility and the courage of overcoming such heartache. It is not an issue that crosses the minds of us who do not have this problem, and especially us who are blessed with children. I fear I was part of the ignorant, if well meaning, public who has the view that this is only a small part of the life of anyone who faces it, and there are substitutes to be had. I have been wrong before, but oh my! I am so grateful to both these women for educating me. PJ has dedicated her blog to this purpose, the education of those of us who do not know because we are not of that world, and giving solace to those who are, by giving them a voice. Kareno gives a more personal insight to her life of surviving infertility and a husband (a right proper sod to my mind) who left her because of it; in addition she is a teacher. All of you who read my blog regularly know I think that is reason enough for any and all awards. So to these two outstanding women I give the Courageous Blogger Award.

My third candidate is Mutterins from the Mill for her courageous and continuing fight on behalf of her daughter in the face of difficulties put in her path by society and government. In addition she has the ability to wax poetic now and again, and rears two sons just as a sideline! Mothers and Fathers when they rear up in the protective stance of a tiger fighting for their young bring a tear to my eye, and me to my feet cheering. So here’s to you @themill, the Courageous Blogger Award.

Fourth to list is Jenny at Mountain Mama. I know darth named you already, but I think it can be said twice. You have what many name a disability but I see that nowhere in your blog. This is a blog filled with love – love of family, love of life, love of the ordinary happenings of life told with humor and frankness, love of yard sales (I have no idea), and love of making jam. I don’t salute you for living with deafness, I salute you for being an example of how to live a life filled with love and finding fulfillment in the usefulness of a life well lived. Here’s to you Jenny, the Courageous Blogger Award.

My final choice goes to Long Way Home. Yes, I know she is my daughter, but I have other reasons. She has overcome some difficulties in her young life, both emotional and physical, and she has excelled. She has such an exemplary sense of honor and loyalty, and that is how she lives her life. She chose to tackle the wilds of Alaska one summer during her university years, facing physical challenges that terrified her. Courage is not the art of not being frightened, that’s stupidity; courage is being frightened and forging ahead in spite of it. She took on a year in a foreign country that is neither easy nor posh, and has acclimated so well she is often mistaken for a Moroccan. Lastly, she uses her blog to take stands on issues that are important to her; she does not always take the side, or choose the issue that is popular or easy. For all those reasons, and because I am so proud to be her mother I give the Courageous Blogger Award to scarlettscion. Here’s to you dearest.

I think it takes a certain amount of courage just to meet the daily challenges of life on earth. I have so much respect for the men and women all over the planet that get up every day and go to a job that is boring, difficult, or demeaning in order to feed and care for their families. They do this day after day, year after year. That is courage. The millions of people world wide that deal with the pain of devastating diseases every day, the suffers of chronic pain, the parents who have chronically or terminally ill children, the adult children taking care of sick or aging parents, the men and women on both sides of the line fighting for what they believe to be true. That’s courage. The parents all over the world, in less than fortunate circumstances, working to do whatever is necessary to give their children a better chance in life. That’s courage. People who give their time and money to alleviate the suffering of others – from the celebrities lending their names and donating their money, to the men and women in the trenches who dedicate their lives to not only what is the care of those less fortunate, but is indeed the betterment of the planet. That is courage. Everyone who has ever taken a stand against prejudice no matter what face it presents. That’s courage. Every child who has survived abuse, be it emotional, sexual, or physical, who went on to adulthood and did not continue the cycle. That is courage. Anyone who has taken on a career in teaching, and performed it with passion and caring in the face of apathy and even physical danger. That is courage. Every leader who has taken the path of peace instead of war. That is courage.

That’s it lovely readers. I don’t think I can add anything to this post that would not be coals to Newcastle. May we each live our lives with passion, compassion, and the courage to forge ahead into adventure, in the attempt to make the planet a better part of the Universe.

Ciao

I was asked by Blog Interviewer to do an interview for their site. It is posted here. They have a rating system. I fear that is all I know about the site. I don't think there is anything new in the interview for regular readers but you may want to pop over just to see what the blog is about (and to give yours truly a "thumbs up").

I have a guest post over at Shades of Grey.

Ciao.

I was taking a look around the Blogsphere last night and here is what I found. Go, peruse my lovely readers.

This week at Crushed by Ingsoc there is the giving out of awards, which presents his readers with five links to explore. Apparently one of his mates is getting married and Crushed is (forgive me) crushed. He is also cruising about for late night clandestine smoking and free beer. An interesting post that spawned a girl’s version over at Sicily Scene is all about “the Artifacts that are Part of Us”, what you don’t leave, or stay at home without? To round things out there is some politics.

From the Sudan, Kizzie tells us about Arab coverage of Dafur, a Sudanese refugee in Cairo, being blocked in China, and some great photographs of a country most of us have never seen.


The Russian Wolfhound is having cream tea in Devon and I am pea green with envy. My kingdom for real tea NOT from a teabag and proper scones! He is slowing down for the month, as are many, but has posted a hilarious taste of England.

Ordovicius is giving us the political heads up in Wales, and the employment woes of a teenager, as well as the unfairness and inconsistency of mobile phone operators.

And over at Westminster Wisdom there is a summary of the possibility of a deal between Benazir Bhutto and General Musharaf.

“To make a deal with the PPP would enable Musharraf to gain broader political support for his government. However, it is a risky business. Bhutto may herself want to take over the reigns of power and may thus want him to stand aside in order to make any deal work. Or, alternatively, the risk could be one for her. She could lose the support and she and her father built up for the PPP by siding with a military regime. It could go either way and I do not know how people would react to news of such a deal.”
Followed by a guest post “From Russia with Love” from the one, the only Lord Higham aka, I am many names.

Finally, Go over to Stay at Home Dad for a touching story about his Polish aunt that will leave you smiling while the tear slides down your cheek.

To see why I am incensed today go to the London Times to read about China’s latest attempt to destroy the Tibetan culture.

“China tells living Buddhas to obtain permission before they reincarnate”
Tibet’s living Buddhas have been banned from reincarnation without permission from China’s atheist leaders. The ban is included in new rules intended to assert Beijing’s authority over Tibet’s restive and deeply Buddhist people.

“The so-called reincarnated living Buddha without government approval is illegal and invalid,” according to the order, which comes into effect on September 1.

t is the latest in a series of measures by the Communist authorities to tighten their grip over Tibet. Reincarnate lamas, known as tulkus, often lead religious communities and oversee the training of monks, giving them enormous influence over religious life in the Himalayan region. Anyone outside China is banned from taking part in the process of seeking and recognising a living Buddha, effectively excluding the Dalai Lama, who traditionally can play an important role in giving recognition to candidate reincarnates.
Related Links


For the first time China has given the Government the power to ensure that no new living Buddha can be identified, sounding a possible death knell to a mystical system that dates back at least as far as the 12th century.


Ciao

correction: 30 July was not the King's birthday, but rather Throne Day. A celebration of Mohammad VI taking the throne. Thank you to houda, and Fasil; albeit it was another Moroccan who told us it was his birthday, so we were not alone. The good wishes stand.

across the sea and back in time

I thought I would take you to another continent today. This is a letter I sent to Q from Northern India.


June 2000


I have spent the majority of the past two weeks "up north". Snow and rocks was the theme, and plenty of both to be had. The rains have arrived south bringing blessed coolness and sending the majority of Westerners, visiting Indians, and beggars onto other locals. The monsoon is useful for so many things.

His Holiness is to arrive sometime this week in time for all His birthday celebrations. It should prove to be quite the gathering. I am the worst when it comes to pictures but I will try to capture the flavor of the festivities. There will be special services at the Temple, pageants, songs and general frivolity at the Tibetan Children’s Village (TCV).

I need you for editing services upon my return; I must begin writing all this down. I have been the subject of various forms of verbal coercion; shy toadying to my ego, and allusions to possible good to be accomplished and duty, among other tommyrot. It has been proposed by those I have known for decades and a body of strangers whose numbers continue to rise as if by design that my writing is valuable to others. When the Universe hands me order by decree She seems to, in my case, use a sledgehammer to the skull as opposed to a divine whisper to the ear.


The trip to Delhi was long but uneventful which is the best one could hope for. I still cannot believe I had no jet lag, but India got me the next day with the heat in the plains on the way up. I had not forgotten how awful some Indian men can be with the leers and the lewd suggestions; however I thought with my advanced age and dressed from head to foot this trip would be different in that aspect. WRONG. From a 22-year-old encountered yesterday on the way up the ridge to Triund (9000 feet straight. up) to the old men in the streets of Delhi and McLeod Ganj it is amazing. I carry one of my hiking poles at all times and adapt a bristling demeanor. I have yet to be physically accosted, just verbally. It is a trying test of my compassion here in the home of the most compassionate man in the world today.

My audience with His Holiness on Saturday was brief (he had over 900 people lined up outside for a public address and greeting) but illuminating. I will tell you all about it when I see you. I have hopes of seeing Him again before I leave; but He is in and out of town and so am I.

The Tibetan people remain wonderful, warm, and amazing. I am treated by all except the children as a child myself. Several of the mothers have decided they need to redress me every time they see me. I am of course in proper chuba and blouse, somewhat at odds with the hiking boots I'll grant you; but I am not stepping foot on these streets without them. The outfits are a bit like playing dress up every day; and I always receive so much verbal, as well as glances, of approval. You know me, the approval junkie.

I am teaching some of the monks English. The children are on holiday from school until 12 June. I met with the Principal and I shall do some lecturing on science and politics; but we cannot make me too much of their schedule because it would not do to have them become used to me and then have me leave so soon. Most of these children have had more loss in their young lives already than seems possible to bear.

I huffed and puffed up the mountain to Triund yesterday with a full pack; but I did make it. That was the easy part. Getting down is ALWAYS the difficult part. I limped into my hotel 11 hours later battered (I hit my head on a rock, of course), bruised (a rock fell on me), blistered (but only one toe, and not badly), with my knees screaming, "Have you lost your mind!."

I met two groups on the way up, then met them again at the ridge. One a group of Israelis and the other Aussies, delightful people. They did beat me going up and then again coming down, but were carrying no packs and only taking the trail to the ridge. I kept repeating to my ego I was the one carrying the extra thirty years- it is a toss as to whether that made me feel worse or better.

I shall spend the next few days resting for the big climb and watching Wimbledon as any civilized person.

I love you my darling. Keep safe and well,
Mum

pass it on..

I pass the Thoughtful Blogger Award onto
James even if he already has one, because he has been so swell to me.
Sally because she has certainly been so to me.
jmb and welshcakes because they are both adorable and great cyber friends.