Tonight's Jam

I'm in Lliria again. This time I'm the vegetarian cook for Winter
School. Tonight after dinner a few of us came to my room and hung out
and played music. Here are some pics.




I got to play my new song for
Pitu, Neda, Hector, Shirin and Shaheen. It was so much fun. I really
missed that, hanging out and playing music. Hector and I reminisced
for a bit after dinner about our times in Haifa. I don't get to see
him much so it was nice to hang out and talk again.
This summer school is huge. There's a big bunch of youth and preyouth
and a few adults. Total is about 150 people, but the number is
expected to go up to about 400 or so this weekend because Mr. Dunbar
is coming! It'll be wonderful to see him again and hear him speak. He
is doing a special session on Friday and Saturday (i think those are
the days).
Another old friend I'll be seeing at this school is Rene from
Switzerland. He is coming tomorrow, just for a day, because he is
going back to Switzerland the next day, but 1day is better than
nothing :o)

Testing Photo Blog

Ok so this is the true Flickr test. I am sending an e-mail with a
photo attached. THe body of the message should end up as my blog, the
attached photo should automatically assimilate itself into the right
hand side of the page, and the subject line of the message should be
the title. If this works, I'll be majorly impressed with this Flickr
thing, since it only took a few minutes to set up. However, if you're
reading this and there's no picture, then Flickr gets no points from
me.

This picture is one of the few I took on the day that I took a trip to
San Sebastian with Mara and Mark. There was a protest about to be held
and we were passing through the square as Basque activists were
setting up. San Sebastian is an old, mostly Basque, beautiful city.
This was on one of the walls....

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Merry Christmas

Today is Christmas day. I'm a Bahá'í and I don't do much for the Christmas thing. It's not that I don't celebrate, because I do believe in Christ as a Messenger from God Whose title is the Son of God. But as far as the whole tree and presents and what has come to be the typical Christmas stuff... not interested.
This has nothing to do with my blog today though. Just thought I'd mention that since it's Christmas today.
I started playing the guitar a while ago ago. In March 2002 after the Fast I bought a Takamine guitar from Adrian Green. It had belonged to Salman before that, so it was kind of mailroom guitar. It sounded really nice and was easy to play. I started doing some online lessons, and got together with Saman and David once a week for Wednesday night guitar night, which started with very high aspirations of guitar lessons, but it being me David and Sam, what generally happened was, David would show up, with or without his guitar. Sam would show up with hers. David would play around and show us something new he had done. Show us as in play it for us, not so much teach it to us... I would cook dinner while Sam played the latest Ben Harper song that she'd learned from tab. After dinner David would give us some impossibly difficult exercise to do to improve our skills (which were nonexistent at the time). After abuot 10 minutes of that we would get bored and start talking about what movies were in cinemas, and usually within 45 minutes we'd be sitting in the movie theatre. If not, we'd be in Ahuza or Ben Gurion or in the Hadar at a cafe drinking something yummy and laughing (sin guitarras, by the way). So that was class. Despite not really learning how to play anything at "class", we all agreed that it inspired us to play better. Sam and I would look at David's fingers in awe as they seemed to move effortlessly along the strings, and of course, we would practice during the week so that when Wednesday rolled around, we would have harder, bigger callouses on our left hand from the guitar strings. And if that's not proof of guitar playing, what is?
I've been playing the violin since I was 6. Well not really. I started with the viola. Well not really. The viola is bigger than a violin, and I was a small child, and there weren't really half size or 3/4 size violas, so what they did is take a full size violin and put viola strings on it and voila! Viola! At some point, I don't quite know when, I, for some reason wanted to play violin instead. I think I thought violin was cooler. So then I got a full size violin, which, oddly enough, felt just like a 3/4 size viola! Geesh. Anyway, the result is that for years I played the violin in various orchestras and stuff, and later picked up the viola again. I love playing the violin (and viola) although if you had spoken to me when I was 14, I'd be singing a different tune. I thank my parents often (in my head anyway, maybe not to their faces) for not having let me quit when I wanted to. And I often encourage parents of children who are playing instruments also not to let them quit. I can't tell you how many adults I've spoken to who said "I used to play .... (insert any instrument here).... I wish I had kept it up". Not one person have i ever met who said, "I played the .... I'm glad I quit." or "I'm an accomplished ....ist, I really should have quit."
But I digress.
Just before I went to Haifa I was in a band in Bermuda, F Natural. We had fun. We played songs, those guys were good. They encouraged me to sing. We took a poem I had written and put it to music. Performing on the stage for the first time, singing, was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life. Playing the violin has absolutely nothing on it. I didn't know what butterflies were until I stood there on that stage about to start. But although I didn't particularly like that song, or the melody, or even the poem very much, I liked the thought of singing, even if the actual act of it scared the crap out of me. All my life I've played an instrument that I can't sing with (unless you count the background "Lahs" I sang with Aube Mystique, our band in Montreal). With F Natural, I realised that there are songs in my head that I want to sing and play, and there is no way I could express how I hear the music, not with a violin. So I decided to learn the guitar.
Other than the Wednesday night session and the free online lessons, I have tried to avoid formal training. I prefer to get tips from friends like David and Eric, and more recently Hector and Riaz. I don't have a particular style, I love learning Tracy Chapman, Ben Harper, and Jason Mraz songs. I hate when I'm playing and people start saying "can you play...." because the answer will surely be no. I'm not interested in learning other people's songs so I can play in a group at campfires. The reason I'm learning guitar is to hear out loud the songs I hear in my head.
Now I have 3 songs that I can consider complete that I've written... "The Bubble Song", "The Free Will Song" and "Is That Enough?". It makes me happy. I'm doing what I want to do with my guitar.
A word about my guitar. Last February, I decided to give my guitar to my father. He had started singing and was discovering his voice. He was also writing poetry again and doing some amazing stuff. His instrument of choice is the drum and he plays really well while singin, which is a feat in itself! He was starting to write Calypso songs and I thought that I'd give him my guitar, so he could have the independence and freedom to put his own music to them. I remember the frustration I felt when I had a song in my head and was trying to explain to a guitarist friend how it should sound. The frustration was not just on my part, because it takes a lot of patience be told that instead of "frrrrink" you should be playing "flllleeeng", which were the only types of words that I could use to describe what I now realise are really simple guitar chords.
I taught Dad E some chords, but he didn't seem interested. I left the guitar with him anyway, just in case, and maybe one day he will learn, if only to be able to show people what he wants played in accompaniment, but his drum thing is really working for him, so if worst comes to worse, we'll have 2 nice guitars around. But since I was guitarless in February, I set about shopping for a new one. I didn't find anything I wanted within my pice range in Canada, so I went back to Haifa and the search continued. Eric was my patient, indulgent sidekick in the guitar quest, that led me to all of Haifa's malls and repeated visits to the Glass Mall in the Hadar. Funny enough, it was there, in the music store where I had been buying supplies for 2 years, that I found it. I had a strong feeling that there was a guitar out there that was "My Guitar" and my job in the shopping was to find it. This one called out to me from the rack where it stood, and after negotiating a great price, waiting for the next order to come in with the right colour, there it was.
Now, almost 2 years later, I love my guitar even more. We spend a lot of time together and it is helping me to be able to share the songs that are in my head, and it's really an added bonus for me that other people actually like the songs as well.
Now I have to work on my singing....

Haven't blogged for a while

Not because I have nothing to say... not because I don't like blogging... Not because I'm not doing anything... Not because I'm busy doing other things... I just haven't felt like it. That's all.
A few times in the past couple of weeks I've seen stuff or done stuff and thought "ooh I should blog that" and then, when sitting here in front of the computer, just haven't. Oh well. Life goes on :o)
I will try and recall some of those things right now...

I walk slower than everyone else I know. Peoplñe take my slow pace as reluctance to go wherever we are going. Nope. I just walk slower. I often tell people to go ahead and I'll catch up later. I usually get where we are going about 20 seconds later. What's the point of walking fast so you can get somewhere 20 seconds sooner, and still have to stand there for 20 seconds longer. If the bus comes at 1:20 and we are 5 minutes away from the bus stop, and it's 1:05, I much prefer to walk even slower than my normal pace, look in store windows, watch people go by, than to rush and get there at 1:10 and stand at a cold bus stop on a busy street. If I'm ate I'll hurry, but if I'm not, I'm going to take my time and enjoy the journey. So there.

People stare at me a lot. It doesn't bother me. It often bothers people who are with me. I often think "hey, if you don't have a life, and have nothing better to do than stare at me and wonder about mine, then so be it." I have been accused of pretending to ignore people staring at me. Apparently, sometimes it's so obvious that I couldn't really be ignoring it for real. I am. I am immune to starers. I am also becoming immune to people around me complaining about people staring. It happens, so what? On the odd occasion when I notice someone staring at me, and happen to meet their eyes, I usually smile at them. Often I get a smile back and that's nice.

Growing up in Bermuda has made me a weird person. I grew up doing some things that we do in Bermuda and I always thought were normal. NOw a lot of these things are "weird". I say good morning or good afternoon to the bus driver and the shopkeeper and the ticket guy at the Funicular, and the other people who are at the bus stop when I get there, and pretty much everyone who I deal with. Even if I have never seen them before. I also thank you. Apparently this is weird according to some sources. So I started observing. It's true... most people don't. Hmmm... I decided I wouldn't stop doing it. The other day, I was shopping with some people from my cooking class. There was a lady (whose name I never forget, because it's Violetta), and a guy (whose name I always forget, it's either Juan, Ramon, or Jose... something typically spanish). We went to the butcher to get some morcilla (which I had no idea what it was, however I later found out it was blood sausage made with rice... but that's another story). When the butcher-lady asked who was next, Violetta asked for 1 and a half kilos of morcilla. Juan-Ramon-Jose interrupted and said very pointedly, "Buenos dias". The butcher was like "huh?" so he said "Primero, buenos dias. Despues, queremos un kilo y media de eso morcilla." She smiled, said buenos dias to all of us and got the sausage. I thought it was nice. It reminded me of a couple of things:
Flashback #1: It's winter 2000. Caroline is meeting me for lunch at Rock Island. She comes running in with Trimmingham's bags, she's been shopping. We sit with our soup or whatever it is and she tells me that the woman in Trimmingham's is a bitch. I was like what happened? She said that got the stuff she wanted and went to the cashier to pay for it, she had stopped in on the way to work, and so was already late. She put the stuff on the counter and the woman just looked at her. Caroline looked back and after a few seconds said, can you hurry, I'm late for work. The woman kept looking at her and finally said "Good morning" very pointedly, and obviously not meaning it in the literal sense. Caroline was like "what?" so the woman said it again "Good. Morning." Caroline got the point, said good morning and the woman rang up her sale, wished her a nice day and Caroline took her stuff and left. In the retelling, she explained how offended she was that this woman wouldn't ring her up unless she said good morning, even if she didn't mean it, and she felt like this woman was very nervy, trying to put her in her place. I don't agree with the attitude of the woman in question, but I did feel that it was kind of rude of Caroline to walk into a store at 8:30 in the morning, come into contact with someone in order to do business, and not say good morning, or any kind of greeting. I think this is definitely something culrtural, so if you do go to Bermuda, try and remember to acknowledge people.
Flashback #2: It's somewhere around 1988, it's a school day. I wake up, brush my teeth and go downstairs to get breakfast. The radio is on, my parents are in the kitchen. In my head, I said good morning, but apparently I didn't open my mouth and say the words (you know how it is sometimes early in the morning). I walk into the kitchn to get breakfast. My father is standing there blocking my way, looking at me with a funny look on his face.
me: "What?"
him: ...same look...
me: "What?"
him: "You don't walk into a room and meet people there and not say good morning!"
me: "I said good morning"
him: "Marcille, did you hear her say good morning?"
mom: "No"
dad e: "Go back upstairs and start again"
me (inside my head): I said good morning didn't I? Why do I have to go all the way back upstairs? This is stupid.
me (returning downstairs): "Morning mommy and dad e."
them (with way too much enthusiasm): "Good morning sunshine" (or something to that effect)....
And so continued what was the last morning I ever didn't greet my parents when I saw them
I used to think my parents were strict and weird. Okay so they're weird - they have to be. All parents are. But they're people. And they're wonderful people. And we lived in a place where people were supposed to teach children to treat people like people, just like they were taught by their parents, in Barbados, and in Bermuda. You see people, you greet them. You see people, you acknowledge their presence. What took place that morning stuck in my mind... (what also stuck in my mind was the second time I came downstairs, there was an announcement on the radio that all Government schools (including mine) would be closed that day because of the threat of an oncoming tropicl storm... it was a false alarm as usual, but we had a day off from school, and I also remember thinking that if I had had my radio on in my room that morning I would never even have come downstairs and had the good morning incident. The fact that 16 years later I remember the whole thing with extreme clarity indicates that I was meant to learn that lesson that morning.). Caroline lived in a place that was different. People generally only come into contact with other people for a reason, and don't talk to each other unless it's necessary.
I like saying good morning to people. I like greeting and being greeted with a smile and a nod or a good morning, whether it's by strangers at the bus stop or the family in the house. I've also noticed that a few weeks ago when I used to get to the bus stop and everyone was staring down the street in the direction of the bus that was not yet in sight, and said "buenos dias" I used to get a few confused looks and mumbled replies. Yesterday morning, I got there and the 2 ladies there who were having a conversation looked at me and smiled and said "buenos dias" when I arrived. How cool is that?!!! And I didn't even have to be rude about it like the lady in Trimmingham's!

"Weed Street"

I went to the Old City this morning. I love Casco Viejo. It's an old,
pedestrian city with cobblestone streets, cathedrals, buskers, bums,
the works.
In Bermuda, the "city" is Hamilton, which is nothing like what most
people think of when they hear the word "city". The main area where
people are is called "Reid Street". I won't describe it, it's too
different from anything that most people have as a reference. If I
find some pics, I'll link them. But anyway, when I think of hanging
out in "Tahn" in Bermuda, I think of Reid Street. In Casco Viejo, I
realise that my favourite place is a street which, until today, I have
never been able to find on the first try. It's a curved, weird street,
because it's not parallel to abything and doesn't seem to join up
where it should. It seems a lot like Diagon Alley in Harry Potter...
If you don't tap your wand on the exact brick and say the right words,
it isn't actually there. THis street is full of clothes that I like,
Indian cotton, loose comfortable stuff, the shoe stores have nice
looking comfy shoes, everything is just chill. So today I went there,
looking for a notebook, but I got there at 1:30 when everything was
closing for lunch (those that actually open in the morning, as I'm
finding that Casco Viejo doesn't really do mornings - and "afternoon"
doesn't actually start until 4:30 or 5 p.m.). So I was walking around,
looking in the store windows behind their locked gates, and I kid you
not, for the first time I realised that every other store on this
street sold paraphernalia for smoking marijuana, growing marijuana, or
covering up the scent of smoking marijuana. I honestly didn't notice
before! One store was posing as an agricultural supply store, but the
books in the window were actually about growing your own weed, there
were fluorescent bulbs, fertilizer, the works. Why didn't I notice
this before? Every store window had bongs in it, there were also
candle and incense stores (which I really liked, part of why I liked
that street), and of course the clothing stores that I like. So I am
now realizing that just as in Bermuda my favourite street was Reid
Street, here in Casco Viejo my favourite street happens to be "Weed
Street". I know that I won't be visiting any of the garden supply
stores there, and the candles and incense that I may buy will not be
for covering up the smell of smoke from anything else, and if I do buy
any clothes there, I will make sure that there's no grass in the
pockets (remind me to tell you about THAT story one day!)

Why is Everything in Spanish???

OK, so I'm in Spain, of course everything is in Spanish. I just logged
on to Blogger to do some editing and adding, and the whole site came
up in Spanish. This is agreat option for those of us in Spain who
speak Spanish and not English, and it's really thoughtful of the sites
that have the multilanguage option to do this.... but what about those
of us here who, once we've found all the characters on this jacked-up
spanish keyboard, try to go to our favourite sites, and find them
speaking a different language? I haven't checked my Hotmail for
months. MSN looks like it has interesting stuff here and there, but it
all being in Spanish, and no way to change, I lose interest. Google is
smart. At the bottom of the page there's Google.com in English. Always
in the same place (this being Spain, they also have Google.com in
Galego, Google.com in Euskara, and Google.com in Catalan). What's up
with that? I found out when I got here, that Spanish people don't
speak Spanish, they speak Castillian - I think the only difference
between this and the Spanish spoken in south and central america, is
the lisp on the Cs and Zs and the use of the informal 2nd person.
There's also a bunch of slang, but that's to be expected. Spain also
has some regional languages, hence, gallego, euskera and catalan.
Euskera is Basque. I'm in Pais Vasco (Basque country). Bilbao is the
capital of the province of Vizcaya, one of the Spanish Basque
provinces. There are lots of Basque people here, so the signs are all
in Euskera and in Castillian. But from what I understand, everyone,
including the Baasque people, speaks Castillian, so the Euskera on the
signs is more of a cultural thing, which I think is nice.
Last night I went to a concert. Yesterday afternoon I saw on a notice
board that there was a cello concert at the "Catedral de Bilbao". It
seemed simple enough, I had 2 hours to get ready, so I headed home,
showered, changed, packed my capoeira stuff, and headed back into town
to find the Cathedral. On the way home, I asked a lady at the bus stop
where the "Catedral de Bilbao" was. She started pointing and
gesticulating and speaking very quickly in Spanish (Castillian
actually!) and a few times mentioned the Catedral de Begoña. Now, I
knew I had said Catedral de Bilbao, and if it was supposed to be the
one in Begoña, wouldn't they have said that? So I stopped her and
said, no not Begoña, BIlbao. Well, she gave me a look that transcends
language barriers, as if to say "you stupid idiot" and then told me
that there was no Catedral de Bilbao. Hmmmm.... I went back to the
message board, which was in the doorway of a store about 3 doors down
from the bus stop, and sure enough there it was, Catedral de Bilbao.
So I'm thinking, even if there isn't something actually called that,
maybe it's just commonly known as that and when people in Bilbao say
"It's at the Cathedral" they know what they are talking about. This is
my Bermuda mentality kicking in. In Bermuda, if something is at "The
Cathedral" everyone knows that whatever it is is taking place at St.
Theresa's Cathedral in Hamilton, despite the fact that Bermuda has
over 300 churches on its 22 square miles. I got home and as I arrived,
Pejman was leaving home. He's the father of the house I'm staying in.
I asked him where the Catedral de Bilbao was. He said "there is a
cathedral in Begoña" so I'm thinking, hmmm.... shouldn't the place
wrongly referred to as CAtedral de Bilbao, actually be in Bilbao? So I
asked, "is there a cathedral in Bilbao?" he answered that yes, there
is one in the old city. The Catedral de Santiago. I knew the place, I
had seen it a few days before with Mark and Mara, and in fact every
time I go to the old city. There are actually 2 churches there. When I
got inside I asked Neisan the same question. He told me Begoña first
then Santiago. Since I only had half an hour to get there, and Begoña
was way out of the way and I had no idea where to start looking for
the catedral there, I decided to check out Santiago, and if I didn't
find the cathedral, I could have a cup of coffee somewhere and hang
out for an hour or so before my capoeira class.
I arrived at the Catedral de Santiago at exactly 8 p.m., and thank
goodness I didn't go to Begoña, because it was there. I got a seat in
front (the place was full but being alone, I managed to get the other
people in the pew to squeeze over and make space). The concert was
being performed by 4 cellists, all Basque. Their names were all Basque
(I've figured it out... Basque names seem to contain more than the
normal number of Xs or Zs) Actually I have the program... they were
Kepa de Diego Cortazár, Diego Gil Arbizu, Aritz Goméz Uranga, and Jon
Larraz Mozo.
The first piece was a cello solo. It lasted half an hour. It was
painful. I had trouble distinguishing it as music. It had no timing,
no rhythm, no key, and the guy turned the page at least 6 times (I
started counting after the boredom had set in, so it could have been
as many as 10 times). The little girl at the other end of the pew, she
was about 9 or 10 years old, obviously felt the same way about the
piece that I did. Wheenver the cellist made a particularly unique
sound with his instrument, we would look at each other and raise an
eyebrow or smile behind a hand. I decided that coffee in a nearby cafe
was not such a bad idea despite having found the concert. However, the
piece finally ended (after 5 or 6 false endings that felt like the
piece was over but turned out to be wishful thinking). I figured this
was the musical equivalent to some art I saw at the Guggenheim.
Sometimes you look at a painting and see that there is canvas and
paint and colours, all the elements are there, however, the way they
are brought together makes you wonder what it was all for. The
difference was that at the Guggenheim, when you see these, you can
keep walking. Here it was like being made to stare at it for half an
hour with my eyes taped open. UGH. However, after this interesting
start, there was a duet for 2 cellos, which was absolutely wonderful.
The next piece, which all 4 cellists played in (as well as all the
pieces thereafter) was, what I now realise, my favourite piece of
classical music. It's Adagio by Albinoni. It's usually performed by a
string quartet, but of course the cellos played all the parts, and it
was exquisite. It more than made up for the 30 minutes of torture at
the beginning. In fact, it moved me to tears. I've been listening to
and performing classical music all my life, and my father's love for
it got transferred to me from an early age. I didn't realise how much
I loved this piece of music though, until last night.
The rest of the concert was also excellent, and finished just in time
for me to make it to my 10 p.m. capoeira class.
But that piece of music, played by Basque people, in Spain, spoke to
me directly, in a language I could understand.

alternative activities

last night i went out. it was saturday night and isn't that what people do? sheida had found out from some friends that there are some gyms in and around bilbao that are trying to offer alternative healthy activities to people on saturday nights. we were going to a free capoeira class from 10 p.m. to midnight. i'm really and truly in Spain. I have always loved the alternative timing of everything here... bedtime is generally after midnight, morning starts much later, and of course, there's siesta. Anyway, if the thought of a capoeira class at 10 p.m. is strange, stranger still was the fact that it was competing with a yoga class and african dancing at the same time, brazilian dancing and squash at 11, and then there was the swimming pool aerobics from midnight to 1:30 a.m.
Can you imagine, you have your dinner at 9:30, like usual, change into your workout clothes, take the subway (which runs 24 hours a day) to San Ignazio, and have a nice yoga warmup followed by a swimming aerobics class... and you're home by 2!

Cereal Surprise

Life in Spain has been wonderful so far, and full of little surprises. Sometimes it's not the big things that make you happy... Growing up, I always classified cereals into 2 kinds, the "good" cereals, like all bran and raisin bran, and shredded wheat, and pretty much anything that advertised itself as a source of dietary fibre, or makes you chew really hard, or tastes bad and isn't covered in sugar. Then there were the "bad" cereals, like count chocula and lucky charms and cocoa puffs, froot loops, cookie crisp and cinnamon toast crunch and anything that had sugar as one of the top 2 ingredients, had marshmallows in it (you know the ones that are hard and crunchy when they're dry but are magically transformed when you add the milk?), turns your milk a different colour (smurf cereal... blue milk!!!) or had a cartoon character advertising them. There was also a grey area for things like frosted mini wheats (little shredded wheats with a layer of sugar thick enough to peel off and eat as candy) and rice krispies (as advertised by snap, crackle and pop). But in general, cereals for the most part fit into these categories. There are people who like the good cereals in the morning, they wake up to a bowl of muesli or bran stix or something, and there are others who like the bad stuff, a bowl of chocolate milk with marshmallows would do if it were socially acceptable, but since it isn't (or not where i come from, anyway) the cereal comes with little balls of puffed wheat or rice as well so you can start the morning guilt free.
This morning, I went to the cereal cupboard to get some cereal. I must tell you, I'm not really a cereal person, mostly because I don't like milk, or the way it makes the cereal soggy. But anyway, this morning, feeling healthy, while preparing a cup of mint tea with fresh mint from the garden, I picked up the box of All Bran and poured a bowl. I was surprised right away. At home All Bran is sticks of bran, similar in flavour and texture to cardboard. This all bran looked exactly like spoon size shredded wheat, but darker. This was a pleasant surprise. I liked the looks of it. I poured the bebida de soja, as it is called in spanish, and dug in, quickly before the cereal gets soggy. With the first bite, my eyes flew open in surprise. Hidden inside each little pocket of bran is a morsel of dark chocolate. Not milk chocolate of course, because that would be bad for you! Dude! I looked at the box again and there it was in tiny italic letters underneath the big bold All Bran was choco. I like it here :o)

I love gmail!!!

i love gmail! it's so easy to keep my inbox clear and everything all
organised!!!!!
as i read messages, i label them with as many things as i want, then i
answer it or put a star if i need to answer it later or follow up,
then i click archive... just so! it almost makes me feel like an
organised person...and as a reward when my inbox is clear, i get a
link to google news... i've actually started reading the news!!! dude!
and all i have to do when i have time is go to my starred box, answer
the mails, remove stars and ta-da! they disappear into the right
places.
Like I said in my links, if you want a gmail account, drop me a
comment and I'll send you an invite....

Useful links

I thought I'd gather together all the links that I keep finding myself
giving out over the past few weeks and post them in one place. So if I
tell you to check my Blog for the link, it's here.


Serving at the BWC
https://bahai.bwc.org/service/
This page has the service needs, a little about the recruitment
process, and online forms to apply. Also the contact e-mail for the
office of personnel if you have any more questions.


Insight Website
www.InsightTheBand.net
That's us. I miss these guys, but I'm really glad we did the cd. Buy
it. Please?! Don't mistake our site for insighttheband.com.... that's
someone else. I like their site though and they look cool....

Paypal
www.paypal.com
Dude. Money. Online. Need I say more? Maybe so.... People can send you
money straight from their credit or debit card. You can send money to
anyone with an e-mail address. To receive the money you set it up to
credit your bank account or your credit card. It's so simple! - and
cheap makes wire transfers and Western Union seem like major
ripoffs....


Online translator
http://babelfish.altavista.com/tr
Babelfish provides pretty rudimentary translation to and from a lot of
languages. I find it works best if you keep it simple. Like if you
have a long sentence with a lot of verbs in complicated tenses, break
it up into shorter, simpler sentences. You're still likely ot get some
weird results, but come on, it's a free online translator. It's also
good for translating web pages. If you're bored, try putting in a
short paragraph, translate it to another language, translate the
translation back to english, and to and fro, until you get something
constant. It's hilarious!

Here's what that paragraph ended up as to and from Spanish:
1st iteration:
Babelfish provides the pretty rudimentary translation to and from many
of languages. The encounter work more better possible if you maintain
it simple. As if you have a long oration with many of verbs in
complicated times, rómpalos for above in shorter orations, simpler. Ot
probable of You're still obtains some strange results, but it goes
ahead, it's a translator in line frees. It's also good to translate
Web pages. If you're bored, it tries to put in a short paragraph,
tradúzcalo to another language, it translates the translation to
English again, and forwards and back, until you obtain something
constant. Laughing It's!

(as I said, it's not perfect - keep it simple!)

4th or 5th time:
Babelfish provides the pretty rudimentary translation to and from many
of languages. Possible the best one of the work of the encounter if
you maintain it simple. As if you have a long oration with many of
verbs in the complicated hours, the rómpalos for aforesaid in shorter
orations, simpler. The probable one of Ot de You're still obtains some
strange results, but it goes more ahead, it's than a translator in
line sends. It's also good for translating the pages of the Web if
you're bored, he tries to put in a short paragraph, tradúzcalo to
another language, it translates the translation to the English again,
and it sends and the movements around the other way, until you obtain
something constant. It's that laughs!

It's pretty reassuring for my friends who are translators, the
knowledge that it will be a long long time before you are replaced by
a machine! :o)

Online Spanish Lessons
http://www.studyspanish.com
Go here and click on "Free Stuff", get the free membership for your
online report card and grade book, and then get going! Speak out loud
as you do the lessons, and use the audio helpers to work on your
pronounciation. It's the best free thing I've found in a long time!!!!


Summer School Pictures.
Here's my pics from summer school. Shutterfly sucks though. I'm not
sending any more people to put pictures there. I love that you can do
the cards and stuff, but there's so many times that I've tried to look
at pics and it wasn't working.... the disadvantages outweigh the
benefits.

G-Mail
www.gmail.com
Google's e-mail rocks. Nothing but praise from me. Vi mentioned the
important problem that it doesn't save draft e-mails, but other than
that, I have no complaints. 1 gig of memory, easy organisation, filing
under multiple headings, and a Google search of your e-mail!!!! It
rocks! It's free and is driven by ads that are displayed when you
check your e-mail, they are down the side of the screen and are
generated from keywords in your e-mail. Pretty cool, David was talking
to me about his new guitar that he's getting and I got ads for guitar
stores.... Even the ads are fun! You can only join by invite though,
so put a comment on this blog if you want an invite and I'll send you
one.

Jason Mraz
www.JasonMraz.com
Jason Mraz is one of the best performers I've ever heard. He rocks. I
can't say enough good stuff about his music. I'm glad he's doing well.

That's it for now but I'm sure I'll be adding to this.

Going for walks

I've started walking around this beautiful place that I'm in. The day before yesterday, I went around this area. It's called Artxanda (Basque spelling of what sounds like Artchanda) and it's a small community on top of one of the many mountains surrounding the city of Bilbao. Basically it's just crowning this hill. It's not a very big town/village or whatever you want to call it. There are a lot of parks, some houses, a high school and a primary school, a small private medical centre, and a bunch of restaurants. Oh yeah there's a culinary school here too. I guess there's other stuff but that's what I've seen. When I was walking 2 days ago I went to the adjoining hilltop, where there is an old unused monastary. Apparently it's a landmark around here. There is a lot of parkland here. There are also a lot of restaurants - because of the view, this is where there are a lot of terrace restaurants, overlookng the city. People like to get married in the parks and have their receptions at these restaurants.
So I took an hour long walk around Artxanda. I walked to the monastary, which has a great view of the hills on the eastern side, and the valley where the airport is. I then walked towards the main park, and around to the other side of the hill, the western part where the valley where the city of Bilbao is. I crossed the street to a
lookout point. I watched the city turn on lights as sunset approached and the sun dropped behind the mountains on the far side of the city. It was gorgeous.
The most obvious landmark here is the Guggenheim Museum (http://www.virtourist.com/europe/bilbao/Bilbao_Photos.htm), which completely takes my breath away every time I see it. It's a huge structure covered with titanium, and it never ceases to amaze me how something so obviously man-made and not living can look so beautiful and organic. Next to it is there are 2 huge cubes, which, under any
other circumstances would be ugly and ruin the beauty of the museum, however these cubes are an exhibit, they are pearly looking and coated with some kind of prismatic refractive coating, which basically means that at any time of the day and in any light, you can see beautiful colours ranging from vivid fuschia and purple and violet and red in bright sunlight, to gentle muted pastels in subdued cloudy light,
bright flashes of rainbows when there is sunlighted reflected onto certain spots.... anything. It's so beautiful. When I go there, I don't know what I like most, the cubes or the museum! Inside the cubes there are 2 displays as well. I won't tell you about them, I'll save it for when you come and visit :o)
Along the edge of downtown Bilbao, which is a pretty small, and well organised city, there is a river. It runs in a semicircular shape, describing half of the imaginary wheel thatis the city. Actually I think it's more of a canal, since the walls of it are very obviously man made. There are beautifully designed bridges crossing it at
intervals, and park and walking paths all along both sides of it. On the "inside" of the circle you see the city, all low buildings except for two 20-storey buildings, on the outside of the circle there are some towns. My favourite is "Casco Viejo" the "Old City" which is best identified by the 2 church steeples, and the small close buildings.
The buildings lining the river are all very dignified looking. Some with the old style architecture typical of European cities, others more modern, but all very nice. Of course, the Guggenheim is one of the modern ones and is really what draws your eye when you look.
After looking at the city and the mountains behind it and the clouds playing with the peaks of the mountains, I walked back home, happy.
Last night, I decided to take a different route. I got my subway/train/bus pass and headed for the funicular, which is about 5 minutes away, in the park. The funicular (or Funi as they call it), is basically just like the Carmelit, but with only the stops at the top and bottom, and is above ground. It runs every 15 minutes and the ride is about 1.5 to 2 minutes. Basically it means that although in a car it takes about 15 minutes to get down the mountain and get downtown, and the bus takes about 20 to 25, if I leave home walking at 6 minutes to either the hour, quarter past, quarter to or the half hour, anytime between 7 a.m. and 10 p.m., I can be in Bilbao less than 10 minutes later. I can cross one of the bridges and be in the centre of downtown within 5 minutes of that, or I can head along the river and be in the old city in 10 minutes. For a 50 cent ride! :o))))
So yesterday, I grabbed my pass and took the 7:15 funi down. I first walked across the bridge and alongside the river towards and past the old city, then turned and came back the same way, which took half an hour. Then I walked along and past the Guggenheim, still along the river, got there just in time to see the steamy fog that is periodically created over the reflecting pool in front of the museum (on purpose), and then along the river down towards the docks and the maritime museum. There was a beautiful pedestrian walkway all along the way, with a separate bike path and literally hundreds maybe even a thousand or so people walking, jogging, cycling, rollerblading, walking in couples, walking with families, dogs, grandparents with grandchildren, everyone. And everyone was so happy to be outside in
the fresh air and enjoying the city. It was wonderful. What I'm calling a footpath was actually more like a pedestrian brick road, about 5 or 6 metres wide, so although there were a lot of people, it never felt crowded. Every now and then there was the tinkling bell of the streetcar going by, but other than that and the bicycles, there was no sign of any other traffic. The roads are elsewhere. I got to a
bridge and crossed, about half an hour after my first bridge, and walked back along the other side of the river. This was just as pretty, more residential, but the walking path had a park down the middle of it. In some places the park was broken by a basketball court, a skate park, complete with ramps and stairs and rails and
everything, and the typical skaters and bladers, a playground.... totally a family place. Again, people exercising, walking their dogs, out with family, or just hanging out on the benches watching the setting sun reflecting on the Guggenheim cubes. It was soooooo nice.
I got back to the funi after walking for an hour and a half, and was home in 10 minutes. It was such a perfect evening! I've resolved to walk every night, and I'm really looking forward to tonight's walk. I want to start a little later though, because at 9 p.m. in the reflecting pool at the Guggenheim, there are these flames of fire that shoot up every 5 minutes - really impressive, and at 10 the laser show
starts on the cubes, which is even cooler than seeing the sunlight on them during the day! I also want to explore the city more, so I want to choose a different road each evening and go into the city and come back out, and walk along the river (where it is brightly lit and full of people) as it gets darker.

Untitled

When you name something "Untitled" isn't that giving it a name? It's like using the word generic or no-name as a name brand....

I've been writing songs lately. I was sitting at Feast a couple of weeks ago, and it was cool following the devotional portion in Spanish, but when it came to the consultation I started to lose my concentration and zone out. Oops. Well as I was sitting there thinking about nothing in particular, a song came into my head... so I wrote it down. Unbelievably, it flowed and rhymed and everything from the first writing of it, I haven't needed to revise anything. I've been working on the guitar and vocals but I suck at that. I really miss McKinney. I can't believe how easy it was to write songs with him. We were chatting yesterday and were talking about sharing songwriting again. He's been writing lots of guitar parts and melodies but no words, I've been writing a bunch of lyrics and can't put them to music....
I started learning the guitar so that I wouldn't have this problem anymore, so that the songs in my head could come out. With my typical impatience, I'm getting really frustrated about not being able to play it well enough yet. I've been playing daily, the hard nubs at the tips of my left fingers are proof of that. It's weird. They peeled and now you can't see them, but my fingertips feel like they used to when I used to put white glue on them and wait for it to dry....
There's a strange smell in my room. It's somewhere near the wall at the head of the bed. So for the past few nights I have slept the other way, with my head at the foot of the bed. I haven't been able to sleep. It's okay though, because there's always siesta to make up for the missed hours at night! :o)

Back to Basques...

So I'm back in the Basque country. As you can see from my very detailled last post, I had a great time here when I came last time. There were between 8 and 12 of us here for 4 days, basically we swam and surfed during the day, sat around talking, watching movies and just chilling at night. It was a great vacation.
After that there was a training for teachers of pre-youth in Lliria, which I had volunteered for. It was an adventure getting there, involving a long bus ride, arriving in valencia at 2:30 a.m. and some random other happenings, but overall not too bad. The weekend was great. I joined forces with Amanecer in cooking for the vegetarians. They didn't die, and actually by the end of the weekend there were twice as many people claiming to be vegetarian than at the beginning, so I guess that's a good thing.
In the course of the weekend, Amanecer (which, by the way, is Dawn in English, which is my middle name) and I became even better friends... in the summer school a few weeks before, we had been roommates. I convinced her to join me in going to Zaragoza following the training. She came, and we hung out for a couple of days with Antonio and Hector and Farida. Then we came up north to Bilbao. She has never been to Pais Vasco before. It was wonderful seeing her reactions to everything. Apparently, in Cordoba, where she's from, it reaches temperatures of about 45 degrees celsius in the heat of the day and goes down to the low 30s at night. No Cordoba for me then... not in the summer anyway. She was amazed that we could still be in spain and have to wear long sleeves at night and a blanket to bed! She was also entranced by the fact that in the middle of the city, or anywhere in the city, you could still see mountains and forests and sometimes riveers.... I love that about this place too. We visited the Guggenheim Museum - well the outside. Apparently the inside is a ripoff, but the outside is absolutely beautiful. Very calming....
Bilbao as a city is very enchanting. I fell in love with the old city right away. And being surrounded by mountains and forests is definitely an experience. What's the real sell for me is the cool weather. And the proximity to the beach.... and the nearby Pyrenees.... I really like it here :o)

"Basque"ing in the Sun

So I spent the last 4 days up in Bilbao with a bunch of youth. Bilbao is a city in Basque country. And I have absolutely no time to blog it now. Watch this space.....

Blogs, Gitanos and lost clothing.

I like Mara's Blog.
Violetta's is my favourite blog in the world.
I'm at the Gitano Summer school and I spent the last couple of hours in a conversation with some Gitano women who arrived early. There will be about 90-100 people here this weekend, surpassing the initial estimates of 50-60. This is the first time this is being done. THe fact that there will be a whole summer school dedicated to addressing the needs of the Gitano people is absolutely wonderful. My interest in it was sparked when I had a conversation with Antonio (a 25 year old Gitano guy who I first saw performing at the Terrace opening in 2001) a couple of weeks ago about the Gitanos here. I immediately noticed some parallels with black people in the west. A similar experience of slavery, having their own culture removed, banned and stigmatized and the resulting alternative forms of expression and struggle to remove themselves from the situation connects us. It would be interesting if there could be some kind of meeting of minds between Baha'i communities of Blacks in diaspora and Gitanos. I am really looking forward to the rest of the weekend.
Gerard from France also returned to be a volunteer for this. It turns out, Sebastien left behind a polo shirt and 3 pairs of underwear. How does one leave underwear behind? It kind of reminds me of the shoes you see by the side of the road and wonder how someone actually lost a shoe, and what was on their foot when they took the next step and why didn't they realise that they were missing a shoe....

A quick note of interest for travellers in Europe

I consider myself fairly well travelled. There are a lot of places I haven't been, and most of the places I've been are in the Western Hemisphere. The past couple of months I've been in Europe, and although it's not my first encounter with them, I thought I would check and see if I was doing it right. I checked out this site - and thankfully I am. It's as basic as it looks. Those of us who were born and spent most of our lives on the other side of the Atlantic will mostly have had limited exposure to these, and many, like me, have avoided them in the rare occasions when I have encountered them. Recently though, with some difficulties due to change in diet, I thought I'd try it out, and now I'm hooked. I can't see how so-called civilised countries make do without them. In Turkey they had the built-in ones mostly, and once you got used to the initial surprise of it being there, it was very helpful. This is my first close encounter with so many free-standing types. They're in every facility.
I'm a convert.

Summer School Pics

Summer school pictures are here. They're not so much summer school pics as they are pictures of people I met during the summer school. Of course, there were lots of other people too, but these are the ones who happened to be around at the times I was taking pictures. And all of the people I was closest to are here in these pics.

Alternative use of toilet paper

Years ago I heard from a friend who had visited a certain country which I'm not going to name, of the way they use paper there for the toilet. It was suitably disturbing and it has stuck in my memory ever since, making that country rank somewhere at the bottom of my list of Places to Visit One Day.

She said that in the bathroom there was a stack of squares of paper, each one about the size of a normal sheet of toilet paper. The paper, however was closer to the texture of newsprint. After trying to use it in the way she was accustomed and experiencing some difficulty, she bravely asked for an explanation. After some embarassed looks, someone showed her.

Basically, the piece of paper is folded in half and then half again, forming a small square. The point at which all the creases line up is then turned to the top, making a diamond shape. This point is carefully ripped off and kept. The square is opened, and using one's left hand, it is put over the index finger so that it looks a little like a hula skirt for the index finger. you then use that finger (yes the FINGER!!!!) to clean yourself off, and once you've finished, gather up the paper, squeezing it as you remove to get rid of the, um, dirt from your finger. You then discard the paper in the bin (not in the toilet). And that little point you ripped off at the beginning? That's for cleaning under your fingernail.

Ugh.

Toilet Blog

Mara's blog had an entry on toilet paper which got me to thinking. It was a pretty popular topic, everyone has pretty strong opinions regarding direction of paper roll flow, responsibility for changing roll etc. I wanted to mention something that it made me think of. Public toilets and methods of avoiding germs. I know I am pretty extreme in this regard, and I was curious to know whether I share this with anyone else. When I step into a public bathroom, these are my basic rules: 1. Some people don't wash their hands, 2. Of those that do wash their hands, some don't use soap, 3. Those that don't use soap make the places that should be clean even more dirty (e.g the paper towel dispenser, or the button that turns on the hand dryer machine), Here's a typical scenario for me in a public toilet. I realise that my behaviour closely resembles Jack Nicholson in As Good As it Gets.... I'm trying to ignore that.

Most of my germ avoidance tactics start after the deed is done. There's not much that can be done to avoid the germs that lurk on the outside door handle, and I imagine those aren't nearly as bad as those on the inside, where no one who touches it has washed their hands. However, upon stepping into the stall, I get a small piece of toilet paper with which to touch the locking bolt mechanism. After using this to lock the door (and also conveniently to ascertain that there is in fact toilet paper available) I throw it in the toilet*. After using the bathroom, being careful not to touch any part of anything on the inside of the stall with anything other than the bottom of my shoe, I flush, either using my foot if it is one of those protruding bar flush mechanisms, or using another piece of toilet paper if it is another kind. Another small piece is then used to unlock the door. This one is always left in the toilet after I leave, which may cause consternation to some when they enter, about why there is a clean little piece of toilet paper in the toilet*.

Now comes the challenging part, washing my hands. It's tricky. It requires a survey of the area. I quickly ascertain the type of drying mechanism, tap type, soap dispenser, and exit route. The worst combination is a push-button soap dispenser, tap that you have to hold down, and paper towel dispenser with some kind of manual button for dispensing, combined with a door that has to be pulled to exit. In this scenario, I first dispense the required amount of paper without ripping it off. I then get some soap and wash the tap. Then I get more soap and wash the soap button. With clean soap button and clean tap, I can then proceed to wash my hands, dry them with the pre-dispensed paper, and use the same paper to open the door to leave (and to turn off the tap in some cases). Worse is when there is a hand dryer, no paper, and a pull door to exit. In a busy place I just wait for someone to come in, then hold the door with my foot as I'm leaving. As a backup, there's always toilet paper, but only if I don't have to actually touch the stall door handle to get it.

In my head, the ideal public bathroom has the following elements (all of which I've seen in various places, but never all together):

A curved or overlapping wall entrance not requiring a door but still private.Toilet stall doors that open out and not in.

Door lock and unlock mechanisms that are foot operated (I've only seen this once and was duly impressed).

Automatic flush or foot pedal on the ground.

Toilet paper dispenser that doesn't involve sticking your hand up in it and digging for paper.

Low enough seats to squat comfortably without touching the edge of the seat with your leg or any other body part.

Automatic taps that are motion activated.

Soap dispenser in which the dispensed soap runs over the button that you press, therefore keeping it self-cleaning.

Motion activated hand dryer.

Paper dispenser that dispenses the sheets one at a time without pressing anything.

Is this too much to ask?

I miss John Hicks

The last time we I was in Spain (and the first time for me) was with the band on tour last year. It's interesting to think about how things have changed for me since then. I just ran into someone who knew us from the tour and who knew John from his pre-tour sojourn here. Seconds later John himself came online. There are some people who you meet and become friends with and your friendship seems like the most natural thing in the world. I had no idea when I first met John that that would be the case. But only a few weeks later, he was a regular visitor to my flat, company in the kitchen and, along with the band, a big part of my life. I think when you create something with people it creates a special bond. I feel a connection to John and David and Gappy that I don't feel with other people. It started when we started writing music together, or maybe before that, when we decided to. We've done so many things together, that I can't believe that it was such a short time that we were all together. Visiting the Shrines, ordering takeout, exploring (John and I had a superb trip to Tzephat one weekend!), and of course the music.
Now I'm here in Spain and they treat me like Insight is some sort of superstar group! It's so funny, last week I was signing autographs hahahhahaha! Where's John now to revel in the fame he always dreamed of for us? :o) love you Hicks!

Zapatos (y ropas)

I don't even know if that is the right word. I'm learning Spanish by
osmosis. That means I'm trying not to have to look up words. When I
don't understand something I have someone explain it to me in Spanish
and not English, and I try to learn by looking at things around me.
Hence, I think the word Zapatos means shoes, but I'm not sure until I
use it and see how it works. At any rate.... I think shoes say a lot
about people. I had a conversation a couple of months ago about guys
and clothes and shoes. Someone was of the opinion that guys should be
well-dressed and shod, otherwise they aren't worth the effort. I was
of the opinion that what a guy wears is really not important to me at
all. I prefer someone who is wearing the basics and replaces them when
needed, as opposed to a guy with a closet full of clothes and shoes of
various brand names and cutting edge style. I'm not that kind of
person. That guy needs someone who appreciates high-maintenance and
that's surely not me. What made me think of this? I bought a pair of
flip flops today in a discount store. They were 5 euros. I'm very
happy with them. The straps are orange and the sole of my foot is
multicoloured stripes. I like the idea of having a pattern on the part
of the shoe that no one sees when I'm wearing it. I take off my shoes
a lot, and I like that they look nice when they're off my foot.
My thoughts are unduly preoccupied with guys, and for now I'm not
going to try and do anything about it.
A few days ago, a guy I was just getting to know came and showed me
the shoes he was wearing. They were a strange corduroy type shoe with
a leather wing tip. I would not be surprised if they were the kind of
shoe that Bert wears on Sesame Street. They were beige and brown.
Somehow, though, he managed to pull the look off. He wore them happily
and confidently. So he shoes me the shoes and says "guess how much I
paid for these!" and so I guessed and eventually guessed the right
figure, I can't remember now, but somewhere about 20 euros. He was so
excited about his shoes. We then moved on to his funky striped shirt
in various shades of brown and beige, a perfect match for the vintage
style shoes, the shirt was about the same price. He was so proud of
his outfit. I like him for that. I feel the same way when I find a
bargain. Not so much that the clothing needs to be gorgeous and
outstanding, but that the price is right for it. He was happy and he
wore it well.
I think it's good that not everyone is like that. But I think those of
us who are, should be left alone to do our own shopping.
I went home for 2 months to be with my parents. My mom and I are very
different, and as a gift for me in the 2 months that I was there, she
bought a bunch of fabric of my choosing, and had some clothing made
for me. I got to design the stuff myself so that at least it was
somewhat my style. She felt that my wardrobe was inadequate. Left on
my own, I would have spent the money on a couple of pairs of khakis,
some secondhand jeans to cut and make shorts, and a bunch of t-shirts
direct from the seconds shop at the factory, looking carefully to make
sure the fault that caused the price to be reduced wasn't obvious.
For the past week and the next week I'm going to be here at the summer
school, and every day I look at my clothes and realise that I have
nothing appropriate for volunteering at a summer school. Tailored
summer pants and beautiful tops are not what I need. I really want a
comfy pair of cut off jeans and some more Eilat pants, and about 6
t-shirts. Then I'd be good to go. I'm going camping next week. I have
nothing to wear.

Things remembered.

It's interesting the things remembered about events. Sometimes it's
not the significant things or the fantastic things or things that are
noteworthy at all. Of last week I remember coming back from the cafe
in Lliria and passing under a mulberry tree with a few out of season
fruits on it. I remember someone reaching up to gently pick one for me and
hand it to me. I remember the sour, out of season taste of the fruit
was most beautiful thing I've ever tasted, not because of the flavour,
but because it was picked for me.
I remember a water fight and after futile efforts to get past the
hose-wielding madman, I bit the bullet and walked bravely and directly
towards him. Causing him first to point the hose-gun-nozzle thing at
me threateningly, then to quickly drop it and run in fear.
I remember losing my patience at the completely amateur but
enthusiastic gospel choir workshop that i was facilitating because
every time i asked for quiet it only lasted 5 seconds. And completely
wishing that I could hug and apologise to every single person in the
group for raising my voice as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
I wish I was more patient. I wish I thought more quickly than I act. I
wish...
I remember being in the kitchen, talking with a 15-year-old boy and
feeling completely loved and respected as an equal.
I remember holding a 4 month old baby girl with attentive eyes and a
wise smile as I organised the chairs in an obsessive-compulsive manner
and wishing she was mine.
A heart to heart conversation in Spanish with a recently-widowed old
lady while washing lettuce and chopping tomatoes.
I remember games of chess with an equally unskilled partner. Played
with 10-second limits for each move, so that our mutual impatience was
allayed. I was kicked out of the chess club in school. We had to do a
total of 2 extracurricular activities per year, for which we got
credits. I got all 10 extracurricular credits in the first year, but
in second year I still did 12 more. One was chess club. It was on
Mondays at lunch time. I love the idea of chess. The little men with
their own rules. The queen who can do what she wants. etc etc. I hate
the time waiting for my opponent to think of their next move. I hate
the disorderly nature of my thoughts in that time while waiting. I
hate when they make a move that was completely outside of the realm of
my thoughts and expectations. I love chess. I hate playing it with
other people. In school, they lovingly told me that I could have the
credit without finishing off the year's chess games, but please, no
need to come back. They didn't understand that I wanted to play. Last
week, with our special rules, there was no thinking allowed. Moves
were made whimsically and spontaneously, losses of pieces were borne
with goodwill and victory was sweet. I remember these chess games of
last week and wish all my chess games were like that.
That was summer school for me.

This Blogging thing...

So I realise that I gave the address to my blog to some people who
think that here they will find updates on what I'm doing, and I
realise that they may be visiting and leaving feeling unfulfilled. If
that is the case, remove the link now and there's no need to come
back. I'm changing my mind. This blog is not a travelogue. It's not a
journal. It's a place where I can write what I want when I want.... So
there.
If you want to know what I'm doing, e-mail me. [my name]@gmail.com

Here at Summer school

I'm in Lliria right now. It's a place in Spain about half an hour from
Valencia. There's an amazing summer school here. I'm a volunteer here.
There's absolutely no time to blog.... But it's cool. I've met some
wonderful people from many places. I love it!

And now in Spain

The concept of blogging regularly and keeping a journal-like thing is
totally beyond me. I keep doing stuff and seeing stuff and thinking, Ï
gotta put this in my blog¨and it never happens.
Ok so what´s up with this spanish keyboard¿ nothing is where it should be!

The choir tour went really well. The concerts got better and better as
time went on, and who knows, maybe I´ll be able to write down all the
stuff i wanted to write about that.... however, right now I wantto
write my initial thoughts and feelings about being here in Spain,
while I´m still htinking and feeling them and they are real and
fresh....
I arrived 2 days ago in Barcelona, after a 20 hour bus ride from
Frankfurt (the details of which I would love to blog but now no es
possible) i then took another bus to Zaragoza, about 3 and a half
hours from Barcelona. Hector picked me up form the airport, and I met
his family, his brother, mother, stepfather, brother´s girlfriend, and
then we started moving furniture around. The apartment I´m staying in
is Hector´s and is right next to his family´s house. It´s a nice
place. There´s even room for a little garden. His family is very sweet
and accomodating, although when I first arrived everyone was sleeping
because it was siesta time :o)
Ahhh... Siesta :o)
oday we had Paella for lunch. Lunch and dinner are served outside on
the veranda and there is always enough food for as many people as show
up. Today it included Neisan from Bilbao, Santiago (who has actually
been around for the past 2 days, although I understand his mom lives
close by in Zaragza) hector´s friend, Anna, Hector´s brother´s
girlfriend (although if you ask they will deny that they are together,
but it´s not rocket science to figure out that they are) she´s from
southern spain and I am told that I am not alone in being completely
unable to understand her spanish. Israel (hector´s brother) is often
called upone to translate her spanish into spanish for everyone else
to understand! and random other people...
During the gospel choir tour I found it necessary to choose between
eating meat or breaking my budget. Upon arrival in Spain I found it
necessary to continue as a non-practicing vegetarian. Ugh. I realise
how little i like meat, but if i refused to eat it, people would be
offended, and i would starve.
Anyway, must go now.... siesta calls.... more later.

Amsterdam. WOW.

You know, you hear stories about Amsterdam. You hear the word Amsterdam and what immediately comes to mind is sex and drugs, all legal. I don't know about anyone else, but this never put a mental picture in my mind. It was just words. Last night we got on a train and went to Amsterdam to see for ourselves what it was about. There were 5 of us. 3 guys, 2 girls. The rest prefer to remain anonymous.

We set out at about 9:15ish, after a wonderful meal in the Japanese restaurant in the hotel... they cook the food in front of you, juggle knives and flip food around and set it on fire for you... the whole shebang. Anyway, all full and ready for the night, we headed out, got second class round trip train tickets and headed for the platform. We had a little difficulty finding it so I eagerly enlisted the aid of a 3 very pleasant, very friendly Dutch guys. Our train was a nicely equipped double decker, very new, with plush seats and plenty of space. We watched a long beautiful sunset over the countryside and enjoyed the scenery... canals, windmills, fields, community gardens, cows, sheep, horses, everything. We passed Den Haag (the Hague) on the way as well.

We arrived in Amsterdam with no directions or any idea of where to go. We wanted to see the red light district in the flesh (so to speak). We were only told that we'd know it when we saw it. Oh wait, first let me tell you about the bathrooms. After the Japanese food with plenty of green tea and the train ride, we needed a bathroom when we got to Amsterdam. There was a WC at the train station for 50 cents. So the girls went to the women's and the boys go to the men's and we paid the money and went through the electronic doors - and found ourselves in the same place! Hahahahhahaha!!! It was like an entry area, and the stalls on the left were for men, and the right was for women... it was bizarre! When I came out a woman was chasing down her little girl who was wandering off towards the men's section where the urinals were... yikes! Speaking of urinals... another bizarre thing.. outside the area where the clubs are there's this port-a-poty type thing... but it's a port-a-urinal. Basically, it's a standing wall, with 4 sections, and a hole in each sections (imagine looking down from above and seeing an X shape with a o in each intersection of the X) anyway, I'll take a picture. But there is nowhere to wash hands, and basically these guys are standing there peeing in public! It's like a sanctioned peeing wall. I guess if guys are going to do it anyway, they may as well give them somewhere to do it instead of dirtying the city. What was funny was seeing 2 tall guys standing there peeing, chatting and watching the game over the top of the wall....

So we left the bathroom in the train station and headed outside. There were cafe's everywhere. The smell of various kinds of marijuana permeated the air coming out of the cafes and every third person we passed was smoking a joint. It was crazy. Every place that wasn't a cafe was a bong shop. We kept walking. The city itself is beautiful. The architecture was gorgeous and there are canals and bridges. Tomorrow we have a concert there and we will be able to see the tamer parts of the city during the day. But last night, we had a purpose.

We crossed a bridge and went down another cafe laden street, and there it was. Neon signs, red lights and an inordinate amount of floor-to ceiling windows with subdued red or blue lights in them. THis was it. There was a canal down the middle, and bridges over the top, some parts of it were how I imagine venice to be, but this wasn't Venice! In these windows were women posing, dancing, sitting whatever... dressed in bikinis, lacy undergarments, costumes... whatever. Overall, it was far more tasteful than I had thought it would be. There were no naked people (except on the posters and videos outside the places advertising live sex shows), and if you didn't think about it as you walked, you could have been walking past any lingerie store showcase, but the mannequins were live. It was easy to forget that when guys walked up to these window and the women inside opened what turned out to be a big glass door, they would negotiate a price (most commonly heard was 50 euros) the curtain would close in the window and the beds often seen in the background would then serve their purpose. It was fascinating, and appaling. When we first got there, I was just looking around in wonderment. The other girl and I were both relieved to see that instead of gross looking crack ho's that we thought there'd be, these were actually very nice looking beautiful women. But when I walked and started to think a little, it really started to upset me. These women thought nothing more of themselves than not only to sell sex for a living, but to stand there and be gaped at to advertise themselves. ugh. All of this surrounded by cafes full of people escaping reality with weed and mushrooms.. We went to a pizza place for a midnight snack and a break from it all. It was there that I had the single most delicious slice of pizza that I've ever had. The crust was perfect. They used Dutch cheese instead of mozarella. It was great! We walked around a bit more, had enough of it and went home.
The train ride home was actually the highlight of my night.
Unlike the train coming to Amsterdam, the 1:43 train to Rotterdam was an old smelly one. I guess the fact that the people on it were coming from a night of degradation in Amsterdam was the cause of the smell. The ratty seats were probably because it was an old train. We got on at the back end, and the first 2 compartments were nasty and smelly so we kept going. The next section was booths, we figured these were 1st class. Next was a reasonably empty, and therefore less smelly car, so we sat and made ourselves at home. THe conductor came by about 15 minutes later, and announced to us that we had 2nd class tickets and therefore should not be sitting here in first class. Oops! He showed us where the little 1 and 2 were to indicate the class of car we were entering. All the second class cars were crowded and smelly. We walked forward further and further until there was no more forward to walk. We were in a space where there were 4 doors. The one going forward to the conductor's little thing where he drives the train, the 2 side doors for entering and exiting, and the door back into the nasty smelly car. We stood there. I spotted a guy in the corner sitting on a chair that folded down from the wall, next to him was another seat. The seats were small... I asked him if he minded he said no. So I sat. This guy was gorgeous. Even the spike sticking out of the piercing in his lower lip, the 3 earrings in each ear, and, I was later to find out the tongue piercing, did not detract from his beauty. Beautiful squinty eyes, strong jawline, long ponytail, but neatly shaved on the sides.... tall lean and well built... so nice! The other girl and I chatted with him and he was quite happy to chat with us. After a few minutes he offered her a seat too, and slid over to reveal a 3rd fold down seat. The 3 of us crowded in there and had a fun time learning useful Dutch phrases, and talking to Mitch (Mitchell) born and bred Dutch hottie. I am truly impressed by him and his kind. The guys found seats inside, and at one point one of them fell asleep. He didn't fall into a peaceful silent sleep, though. He started to snore loudly, much to the amusement of everyone around him. A lady obliquely opposite and facing him, was talking on her cellphone. She chattered away in Dutch, probably describing to her friend the loudness of the snoring, then held the phone towards him so her friend could hear! It was a hilarious ride.
Mitch got out at Den Haag and wished us a pleasant trip. We said goodbye, in Dutch... and had an uneventful ride home.

Holland is truly not what I expected. I'm already looking forward to visiting here again!

Rotterdam, the Netherlands and preconceived notions debunked

We left London yesterday morning and flew on 3 separate flights to
Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Our hotel is in Rotterdam and is
absolutely gorgeous, I have no idea what they would have to do to get
upgraded from 4 to 5 stars, it is fabulous! Right in the heart of the
city. I thought that was an exaggeration, but literally any direction
you walk in from the hotel, you will find shops, clubs, cafes and
everything.

Before going on a trip, I usually go online and check out the place
and see what I want to do and see what the place is like. I didn't do
that for this trip. I thought I was coming in with no preconceived
ideas. I picked up a Lonely Planet on Western Europe in London and
skimmed through the Netherlands pages and didn't get anything.

Here are some notions I thought I didn't have until I got here and saw
the place (and this is Rotterdam I'm talking about. We are going to
Amsterdam tonight... me and the guys, we'll see what that's like!)

1. I thought the Netherlands was a big flat country full of tall pale
blond people who all look alike.

It's flat. The people are generally tall. That's about it. The
Netherlands is small. There are fields and windmills.... and cities.
Last night was the World cup game between Holland and Portugal. We
bought some orange scarves and hats and stuff and joined the
merrymakers to watch the game. A whole street one over from the hotel
was cordoned off and all the clubs on that street (about 7 in 100
metres of street) had tents out front and a jillion TVs and people
watching them. The people... it was unbelievable. How come no one ever
told me how beautiful Dutch people are? There were the tall blond
ones, yeah, but there were black peoople, white people Asian people,
Latin American people, Arab people.... and every single combination of
them you can imagine! And all of them were beautiful!!! The guys with us on the tour wholeheartedly agree.. it's not just the guys who look good, the girls too.

2. I guess I expected that even in a cosmopolitan city, there would be stratification among the races.

Seeing different types of people all together, but in a country where the natives are pale and blonde, without realising it, I expected prejudice and separation between the groups of people here. One thing we noticed at the nightclubs was that you would hardly see a group of people all together of the same race. Interracial couples seem to be the norm, in fact, I didn't see any couples with 2 people the same race, except for the Dutch people. From our limited observation on that night we also realised that they like black people. We weren't looking at racial tolerance here, it was more than that. I have seen an insane amount of interracial blending here, people of mixed races, couples, friends, groups... I didn't realise how unfamiliar this was until I saw it. It's sad that it's so obvious. It shows how much it is lacking everywhere else. We were talking about it the other day, and it is really an amazing feeling as a black person to be walking down the street and not feel antagonism or hatred or a sense of superiority from the people around you. How refreshing!

3. I thought all the cities we'd be visiting would look similar, or feel similar or something...

Rotterdam is so different from everywhere I've been. It's the biggest port on the face of the planet. But that's not the difference, in fact you can't even see the porty stuff from where we are. The interesting thing is the bicycles. They are everywhere. Everyone rides bicycles. There are thousands of them. Every street has a bike path, they even have their own traffic lights. There is a clean feeling in the air, probably because of the bicycle traffic instead of cars. The streets are clean, the air is clean. Everything is clean. The people are all fit and healthy. I've never seen so many healthy looking people! The thin people don't look anorexic and scrawny, just slim and fit. There aren't many fat people. The portion sizes in restaurants are normal, not crazy big. Everything about the place seems so wholesome. Out in the country all the animals are big. The horses are big. The cows are biggeer than any I've seen. even the pigeons and the seagulls are big. This plus the fact that the people, on average, are like a foot taller than everyone else I know, makes me wonder what this place does.... Maybe it's something to do with living 20 feet below cea level.....

Oh and the tap water tastes better than bottled water!

The Rest of London

On Tuesday we had our concert at Acton Town Hall in London.
As expected, attendance was low. There were about 200 people there.
With the tube strike on and the streets crowded with people using
above-ground transportation, it wasn't surprising.
The concert, however, went very well. We sang about 12 songs with a
short intermission about halfway. The spirit within the choir was
amazing. We had had a really good rehearsal that morning, and we were
really ready to perform. There were some little istakes during the
performance, but nothing so bad that the audience would notice. I was
surprised (though I guess I shouldn't have been) at how the audience
really wasn't getting into it, I mean, after all, it's gospel music
right? But at intermission we went out and talked with them. I saw my
friend Laura, who I had been staying with,, and she was also saying
that she wanted to get up and clap and dance but since no one was even
moving, she felt uncomfortable. I told her to do it if she felt.
The song I did a sol on was about 3 songs from the end, and it's the
first of 3 songs in a gospel medley, which is a really really upbeat,
dancing in the aisles clapping kinda music. It's the kind of thing
where even if you don't dance, you'.ll find yourself moving. Every
time we did it in practice, we ended up standing up and clapping and
moving and getting into it. Needless to say, when I was doing my
little solo (I sing "Come on everybody, let's..." and the choir sings
"Praise the Lord!" twice, and then we all sing "Praise His Holy Name!"
and we do that whole thing 3 times, then I rejoin the choir), so I was
so tired of looking out at a cadaverous audience, I prompted them to
clap along, then waved them to stand. Laura took the cue and jumped up
and before long everyone was dancing :o)
Adrienne Ewing-Roush (who sings a lot of the female solos on the We
Have Come to Sing Praises cd) sang her solo later on in the medley and
she was so dynamic! Everyone got right into it!
At the end of the performance, we reprise the last song and go into
the audience singing. It was such a great way to end, because by then
everyone is on their feet, the choir is mixing with the audience, the
audience is singing along... It was really really nice.
I am completely blown away by the spirit that is created when we sing
together. I knew it would be really cool singing spirituals and gospel
songs, but I didn't know it would be like this. I didn't grown up in
the A.M.E. or any of the churches with strong musical roots. My
parents were both Anglican and when I went to church with my granny,
it was always boring anglican stuff. I had heard about the other ones
and passed by them but never went. I can see how this music can make
you so receptive to the promptings of the spirit, or pretty much
anything that you experience during or immediately after it! During
rehearsals, we have to be constantly reminded not to sing at full oice
and strain ourselves. We are supposed to rehearse sitting down so we
don't get tired but sometimes, the music takes over, and before you
know it everyone is on their feet clapping and dancing, really really
feeling the music, jamming, ad-libbing, it's soooooo wonderful! We
have been moved to tears often as a group - just overwhelmed by it!
Also the fact that there are non-Baha'is in the group makes it really
really special. Joyce, our director is not a Baha'i. She has this
really amazing ability to get what is needed out of each choir member
and obviously knows what she is doing!
I really look forward to the day when I can go to a Feast or Holy Day
and this kind of music is being sung and this kind of experience is
being felt by the people who are taking part in it. When we read the
quotes on music at devotions (which we have before every rehearsal,
carefully planned and chosen readings and prayers) it seems obvious
that this should be included as the music in our Baha'i repertoire
because it does exactly those things that music is supposed to do.
We started the first rehearsal as strangers, but just singing these
songs together has bonded us in a way that I never imagined. I may not
remember people's names, but I feel so close to them because we shared
this.
I won't go on about this.... but it has been great.

a bit of London

Well here I am in Europe, in fact I've been here for a week already!!!

I didn't have time to blog from london so i'll post an edited e-mail I
sent to my parents... stuff in [square brackets] is explanation added
for the blog..

...
I have like 20 minutes to do all my online stuff at this internet
cafe. thanks so much for sending the stuff with Marie. The idea of
shopping is absolutely out of the question. [mom asked me to shop for
some stuff for her] We are all the way up in
Wembley. It takes about 15 minutes on the tube to get to Baker street
and another 15 minutes to Picadilly Circus. half an hour doesn't sound
like much, but since we've been here our longest break has been 2
hours and that barely gives us time to get something to eat.
This choir is unbelievable!!! The songs are amazing, the sound is
phenomenal. Me and Shirley and Marie keep saying how much Dad E [Dad
E, by the way, is the way my dad spells Daddy, which is what I call
him, even though I am 30 years old I still call them mommy and
daddy... mommy tries to ignore it in public, which makes me do it all
the more :o) Dad E took to signing his e-mails "Dad E." which caught
on right away. Mom E. hasn't really worked out so much...] would
love it! I wish he had been able to come, but I guess everything turns
out the way it's supposed to, right?
I met up with everyone on Saturday morning. I had to take a taxi to
the hotel since there is no way I would have been able to carry my
bags on the tube! Everyone had arrived by 2, so i checked in and then
went downtown to hang out a bit. If I had gotten the note and stuff
from Marie, I could have gotten your stuff then, but I didn't get it
until later. We had a meeting at 8 p.m. and then a short rehearsal.
finishing up at about 10:30.
Yesterday we went to the Guardian's grave in the morning. I had never
been before. My last trip here, the day I was planning to go I started
coming down with the flu, and it was pouring, so it didn't happen.
This time, I was supposed to meet Laura and Marco and go, but there
was a big group having breakfast and I finished too late to meet up at
the scheduled time so I got directions and planned to go on my own.
What ended up happening however, was that someone asked if I was
going, I said yes, and so we decided to go together, then there was
another group leaving at the same time, we all ended up together. 9 of
us. They had no clue how to use the tube, what tickets to buy, what
english money was, and instead of just figuring it out, they spent the
whole time talking loud, holding up coins like "what's this?" etc...
it was quite embarassing! I ended up leading them around "like
ducklings" according to one person in the group.... One of the tube
stations where we were changing was closed, so we had to take a bus to
the next station and catch it there, coming back i worked out an
alternate route (much to the wonderment of some of the people in the
group). When we got out, it was about a 15 minute walk to the
Guardian's grave and people were
complaining the whole time! It was unbelievable, 15 minutes on a flat
road... these people wouldn't last 2 minutes in Haifa! hehehehe
Anyway, we got there, the day was beautiful, it was really nice.
Laura and Marco came while were there. While walking from the tube
station, we ran into some people who were also going. I was way at the
back because I stopped at a Turkish grocery store to buy cherries and
speak Turkish. As we got closer to the gravesite, I realised that I
recognised the walk of one of the people in front of us. When we were
in the Baha'i information room, I saw him close up and gave him a big
hug. It turned out to be Dick Grieser (the second) whose family I
became very close to on pilgrimage 2 years ago, especially his son,
Aziz (a.k.a. Dick Grieser the third) It was great seeing him again,
and we took pictures together. All said, the visit was really nice.
There are some well-known Baha'is buried there as well. Time was
running short though, and we had to return for the rehearsal.
Coming back, I basically said, I'm leaving now, if anyone is
ready right this minute let's go. 2 people were ready, and about 6
people were like just a minute. I left with the 2 that were ready, and
some caught up, others went in another group, i guess. I was really
frustrated by then because I knew if we left any later we wouldn't get
back in time, so amidst all the complaints about the walk, people
trying to stop at the store, people looking the wrong way and nearly
getting knocked down crossing the road, etc, 6 of us got to the train
station together. We made it back just in time for the rehearsal which
went from 1 to 5.
The rehearsals have been out of this world. 80 people who have never
sung together singing songs that are so uplifting... and all
together... it's amazing. the spirit is just unbelievable. Van
mentioned that he's done these songs with other choirs including the
voices of baha, and it wasn't like this. When we stood up to sing a
song, everyone was moving, there was expression... it's different,
and good :o). Some of the songs have moved me to tears hearing them
done in the group. It really is soul-stirring.
We rehearsed again from 6:30 to 9:30 and then went to bed. (I had a
bubble bath first)
This morning's rehearsal was from 9:30 till 12:15. I got stuff for
lunch from the supermarket, and came back and had crumpets with smoked
salmon and mozarella and avocado. With some bing cherries and
kiwifruit. Nice :o)
We met back again at 2:15 and just rehearsed until 4:30. We just had
dinner, and I'm here now at an internet cafe around the corner from
the hotel, and we have to be back at 6:15... Time is short, but the
choir is going to be great. We perform tomorrow night and I think
we're going to blow them away :o)
Unfortunately there is a tube strike tomorrow though so attendance
will probably be low.
Oh yeah, before I go, I got a solo in one of the songs in the gospel
medley... we had auditions before dinner break :o)
shirley and marie [the other choir members from Barbados] have solos too :o)

Intruder in the House!!!!

It's after 4 a.m.
Ten minutes ago I almost had a heart attack.
The house is silent, not a sound except me and the keyboard and Ben
Harper quietly in the background. I've just finished reading Vi's
blog, and chatting, scanning pics, and getting stuff done. It's time
to sleep. I hear a loud noise downstairs. Something fell. The windows
are closed, there's' no breeze. What's down there? Violetta's
cockroach blog is fresh in my mind and I hoping it's a cockroach - I
can handle those. So I cautiously descend the spiral staircase,
switching on every light in the house as I go. I reach the bottom of
the stairs and hear a rustling noise and then scraping. There is a
plastic bag on the ground with some of the wrapping paper from mommy's
birthday gifts. Something is in there rustling. I'm hoping it's
something small and rodential, because it sounds too big to be
insectile, so if it's an insect, it's going to kill me. Tap tap tap
rustle rustle. My heart is now going at a rate of about 200 bpm... tap
scratch. I go back upstairs and knock on parents' door. This is too
much for me to handle alone. Or maybe I just want someone to know what
hapened when they see my devoured remains on the living room floor
tomorrow....
My parents are sound asleep. 3 sets of worried knocks later, I realise
that I am on my own for this one. Dad e, ever security conscious,
keeps weapons hidden around the house. We think it's a little
eccentric but tolerate it. I thank him silently as I pull out the
machete from the machete-hiding-spot.
I approach the plastic bag and use the machete to tap it gently. I
then realise that maybe I should open the door to allow the creature a
quick getaway. Done. I return to the last heard location and shake the
bag. Nothing. I know I didn't imagine it, so that means there's a
creature running around in the room. There's no furniture here, we
moved it out to the garage for the party and haven't put it back yet.
I see a movement to my right. There it is. The last thing I expected
to see, but I guess not unusual since we live near the beach.... a
crab. Just hanging out. I return the machete and lock the door. Take a
quick pic for the record, and later identification, and switch off the
lights and come up here.

I think it will scare my mom tomorrow morning :o)))))))

(Insert pic link here) (not as easy as I thought...)

Inside my head

I just "blog this"'d my Blog... Just wondering what would happen if... f it worked out, the link at the top of this blog will take you to my blog, so I guess you'll be right here....

Tomorrow is my mom's birthday. She's having a dinner party for 40-50 people. I'm doing decorations and seating, dad e is doing most of the cooking, I will be doing the dessert and food for non-carnivores....

As I've said before, mom and I think differently and we do things differently. That means things like planning a party. I'm doing the decorations, including centrepieces. so I ask her, last week, how many tables will there be? 10 she says, all round. I get enough stuff for 10 perfectly matched round tables. Tonight I'm setting up tables, and there are
11 round tables and 1 huge rectangle. ugh. They don't have to match, she says. ugh. I'm dying here. Call me anal, uptight, whatever you want, but just give me the right information!!!!!!!!!!! Now that there are enough tables to seat 10 more people, she mentions in passing that there will probably be somewhere between 50 and possibly as many as 60 guests. Okay, so this is a sit down dinner and we've already bought everything we're going to cook for it. How can you change the number the night before???? did 20 people call today and invite themselves??? I think not! she called them! she invited them! now i have to feed them and decorate for them.
all will be fine though inshallah.
Happy Birthday mom!

I went to town shopping with my sister, my mom, my dad, and my sister's boyfriend yesterday. It was like a whole family shopping trip... kinda strange. Warren (the boyfriend), my father, and I determined that we don't like hanging around waiting while other people shop, however shopping itself is not so bad, as long as we know what we want, go in, get it and leave. Exceptions for browsing include electronics, books and power tools. My sister and my mom agreed that hanging around waiting is not a problem, and that shopping is fun. Isn't it ironic, then, that mom and Liss did most of the shopping, leaving dad Warren and I to hang around waiting?

Shoe stores. I think you can tell a lot about a person by their shoe store behaviour.

My mom walks around, spots a shoe she likes, and the first thing she does is pick it up and look at the price, then immediately slips the display shoe on her foot. I don't get it. The display shoe can be anything from a size 5 extra narow to a size 10 super wide, and she will still put the shoe on her foot, and then stick her toe out in front of her to see how it looks. If I squeezed my foot into a shoe 1.5 sizes too small, I would not be waving it around to see how it looks. I don't get it. She then takes the shoe off, and goes to the next shoe and repeats the process. As there seems to be a vast number of shoes in every single shoe store, this can take a long while.

Melissa, my sister, who happens to wear the same size shoe as my mom, picks up a shoe, looks at the price, and if it's over say about $10, she puts it back. Her idea of shoes is quantity not quality. If she can get a pair to go with every outfit she has to wear, then she's good to go. I think she considers shoes a disposable item, hence the large number and low price. M'liss, after checking that shoe passes the "cheap test" (my phrase, not hers), then waves her hands and flags down a salesperson (poor salesperson who heeds her summons) and then asks for said foot apparel in her size. Salesperson goes into "the back" and for the whole time he or she is back there, my sister gives a rundown of the various items in her wardrobe that the shoe will match. When the salesperson comes back, she tries on the shoe, they invariably have her size, they invariably fit perfectly. She takes 2 steps in them, looks in the mirror, puts them in the box, and asks what other colours they come in. Adding stacks of the colours that match things she has, her pile of shoe boxes increases very quickly. Each time the salesperson goes to the back, she walks around a picks out another shoe to repeat the process. This continues until her stack contains all the shoes for under $10 in the store, at which time she goes to the checkout and we can finally leave. During the process however, my mom is faced with a jillion pairs of shoes in her size! This seems to fill her with extreme pleasure, as she puts one on, waves her toe, and takes off the shoe. Not actually buying anything.

Warren, though I didn't observe him much, seems to have some shoe staples in his closet. A brown sandal-type shoe, black sandal-type, sneakers, black formal, black casual, brown of same.... etc. He looks at them, decides he already has one of that category and moves on. When he sees something he likes, quickly and decisively, he buys. Melissa asks his opinion on every pair she tries and he seems to have some standard answers, all very short, all very supportive of whatever tone she asks "How does this look?" in. He's got her figured out.

My dad. He will only actually walk into the shoestore if the shoes he has are already falling off his feet and my mother has threatened not to take him home unless he buys a new pair. Needless to say, he only really has one pair of shoes at a time, and they must meet very specific qualifications, because, after all, they have to match everything he wears and be perfect for every possible occasion. The specifications change every time, rendering it impossible to help him choose. Yesterday was one of those days. The flip-flops he's been wearing have seen their last days and it was time for new shoes. They had to be open, as his feet seem to swell in closed shoes lately, not have plastic of any kind in the sole, not be different colours, be comfortable, and as they will also serve him as a walking shoe, provide support and be easy to walk in. "Impossible!" you say, and I agree. What the heck kind of shoe is he looking for really??? Fortunately the shoe store seems to carry just such a shoe, which we show him. He disagrees, we go behind his back and ask the frazzled salesperson helping my sister to grab a pair in my dad's size. He puts them on, walks around the store for half an hour (while everyone else shops) keeps on the shoes, pays for them and hands them his to throw away.

For me it's always the same. I go into the shoe store with a very specific idea of what I want. I find it. It's perfect! I first check the inside to see if it is comfortable and has arch support and soft padding. Then I check the size of the display model, which is always a size smaller than I wear. I find a salesperson (Melissa is actually by this time employing 6 people on a rotation so there's no one left really). When someone finally comes to my aid, I hold up the display one and ask for my size. They promptly inform me that the display pair is the last one, and in fact they are the only store in Barbados (or whatever country I happen to be in) who carry that line, but would I like something else? I survey the rest of the shoes and find something else that will do as a second choice. Saleslady's eyes light up as she knows that they have this one in the back. She goes to the back for 10 minutes and comes back with 3 boxes in her hand (this is scary I only can wear one pair). They don't have 8 and a half, however they have the 7 and a half and the 9 and a half, would I like to try them? After convincing her that I am not going to buy the one that I have to squeeze my foot into like a sausage (but since my mom wears 7 and a half she tries it on and waggles her toe in front of her before putting it back in the box) nor will I buy the pair that look like clown shoes when i put them on because there's enough room in there for another person... I ask what's in the other box. Oh this isn't the same, but it's your size she says. I try on the ugly granny shoe she has brought, thinking that maybe it will actually look less horrendous on my foot - it doesn't, and it has no padding and no supprt. No thanks. And I walk out dejected.

Melissa pays for her stack of shoes, mom wants all the boxes please - for storing photographs, daddy sees for the first time that his shoes were twice what he planned to pay but mommy gets them for him anyway, since he's already been wearing them all over the store for half an hour and at any rate, it would be too embarassing to get his old ones out of the garbage, mom says she'll come back for one that looked nice when she waggled her toe, but m'liss has already included it in the stack to surprise her, i am dejected at having found the perfect shoe yet again but not in my size, and Warren happily carries the 6 bags containing Melissa's shoes.

That's how my family goes shoe shopping.