A week from now, I will have spent a whole day and be well into my second day here in Bilbao with Violetta.
She arrives at 5:45 a.m. on Sunday and will stay with me until February 17th, when we will both head to the beautiful city of Barcelona, and spend a few days together there. I am so excited!!!! As I walk around Bilbao, I try and see things the way Vi will see them. I can't wait to see this city that I've fallen in love with and come to think of as home as described by Violetta.
She's arriving by bus, so I know she will be tired when she gets here, but it will be Sunday morning, perfect for checking out the bizarre bazaar that is the flea market in Plaza Nueva in Casco Viejo. That's the place where you can buy things that most people would call junk. It's kinda scary sometimes, you look at the stuff arranged on a table and you know this guy is selling the contents of a house he robbed recently. One guy was selling used car radios... come on! Cellphones without sim cards? find them at the flea market! However, this flea market is also a collector's dream. There are stamp collectors, gem collectors, coin collectors, old book collectors, dirty magazine collectors, and whatever.... In the `plaza itself, groups of people congregate to trade trading cards of different types, other areas contain makeshift pet stores selling birds, turtles, goldfish and other pet paraphernalia, and near to them you will find people who are owners of new litters of kittens or puppies, looking for adoptive parents. I go there looking for books in English, and sometimes I even find them! The atmosphere is really fun though. I am sure most people aren't there to buy. Just to drink in the crowd while sipping at their red wine or a glass of mosto in one of the jillions of barras that line the plaza.
Speaking of mosto... I discovered it a few months ago. I have yet to find out what the difference is between mosto and zumo de uva (grape juice). Mosto is grape juice. However if you go to a bar and ask for grape juice, no one has it. If you ask for mosto, they always have it. It is served in a tall glass with ice and a slice of orange. Always. And it's always the cheapest thing on the menu. If a coke or nestea is 1.50, the mosto is almost always less than 1 euro, often 80 cents. I don't get it. But I like it :o)
So tip for non-drinking travellers in Spain who want to save a few centimos... drink mosto.
Monday, February 07, 2005
My Blog Is Boring
I'm bored of my blog. I can't believe you're even here reading it. It is totally lacking in substance, interest, humour, depth, and pretty much everything.
It's not that my life is devoid of substance, interest, humour, depth etc, it's just that I haven't felt like writing about it. There's a lot of stuff I'm going through as part of moving to a new country, learning a new language etc. Most of it is fun, but hard to describe. The stuff that is easy to describe is the stuff that is not necessarily positive, and borderline backbiting, and that's a border I want to stay away from. So for now, my blog will probably remain boring and dull....
It's not that my life is devoid of substance, interest, humour, depth etc, it's just that I haven't felt like writing about it. There's a lot of stuff I'm going through as part of moving to a new country, learning a new language etc. Most of it is fun, but hard to describe. The stuff that is easy to describe is the stuff that is not necessarily positive, and borderline backbiting, and that's a border I want to stay away from. So for now, my blog will probably remain boring and dull....
Friday, January 28, 2005
According to my profile...
I boredly clicked on my blogger.com profile. Narcissistic? Maybe. I occasionally Google myself too, just to see what comes up.
I was born in the year of the tiger. I think that's cool. If someone told me all the possibilities of animal names of years for the Chinese year thing and I had to choose one, I would definitely choose tiger. The years are Rat Ox Tiger Rabbit Cat Dragon Snake Horse Ram Monkey Rooster Dog and Boar. If I were born in the year of the rat, I probably wouldn't be writing anything about it. Tigers are cool though. Dragons are a nice second choice.
I really don't believe this stuff though. I just found out my tiger horoscope for today:
Your spouse will have much to do to endure your changes of mood. Take good care of your feet. At work, you'll be more realistic, more careful and pragmatic than ever. In family, you'll be surrounded with warm affection; you will achieve an understanding of rare perfection. Know that you're a unique being -- you don't have to act like everybody else.
1. I don't have a spouse, so yeah, no.
2. Take good care of your feet... ummmm ok. Random.
3. At work... ha! I have been unemployed for ages. In fact, maybe the take good care of your feet comment has something to do with the fact that I've been pounding pavement for months job-hunting....
4. Hmmm family, warm affection, rare perfection. Well that's nice. I love my family. I'm helping my mom with some cards, so maybe we will accomplish rare perfection...
5. Unique being... Dude... I know that already!
So all in all this daily horoscope thing is mostly wrong. I could be a daily horoscope writer. It must be fun to make this stuff up. Almost like writing the copy for the back of product labels. You can pretty much say anything you want.
This is my overview for the upcoming year of the rooster starting february 9th:
Eager for action, the Tiger may instead be surrounded by harmony. In order to turn their energy into useful channels, they must join cultural clubs or participate in different debates and seminars. If an occasion presents itself, they will have an interest in discovering new countries, civilizations and peoples still unknown to them. Their trips will stimulate their thinking and help them acquire wisdom.
The character summary for tiger people is kind of interesting too.... I read it here. Read yours if you want... If you're bored.
(for entertainment purposes only. InsideKrisiasHead cannot be held responsible for anything resulting from any adviced followed as a result of reading this blog or reading anything on the links from this blog, or the links from those links. In fact, InsideKrisiasHead is totally irresponsible. I'm just bored and writing stupid garbage. If you really want something to do, read Violetta's blog, or look at Ryan's pictures. Now go, get a life.)
I was born in the year of the tiger. I think that's cool. If someone told me all the possibilities of animal names of years for the Chinese year thing and I had to choose one, I would definitely choose tiger. The years are Rat Ox Tiger Rabbit Cat Dragon Snake Horse Ram Monkey Rooster Dog and Boar. If I were born in the year of the rat, I probably wouldn't be writing anything about it. Tigers are cool though. Dragons are a nice second choice.
I really don't believe this stuff though. I just found out my tiger horoscope for today:
Your spouse will have much to do to endure your changes of mood. Take good care of your feet. At work, you'll be more realistic, more careful and pragmatic than ever. In family, you'll be surrounded with warm affection; you will achieve an understanding of rare perfection. Know that you're a unique being -- you don't have to act like everybody else.
1. I don't have a spouse, so yeah, no.
2. Take good care of your feet... ummmm ok. Random.
3. At work... ha! I have been unemployed for ages. In fact, maybe the take good care of your feet comment has something to do with the fact that I've been pounding pavement for months job-hunting....
4. Hmmm family, warm affection, rare perfection. Well that's nice. I love my family. I'm helping my mom with some cards, so maybe we will accomplish rare perfection...
5. Unique being... Dude... I know that already!
So all in all this daily horoscope thing is mostly wrong. I could be a daily horoscope writer. It must be fun to make this stuff up. Almost like writing the copy for the back of product labels. You can pretty much say anything you want.
This is my overview for the upcoming year of the rooster starting february 9th:
Eager for action, the Tiger may instead be surrounded by harmony. In order to turn their energy into useful channels, they must join cultural clubs or participate in different debates and seminars. If an occasion presents itself, they will have an interest in discovering new countries, civilizations and peoples still unknown to them. Their trips will stimulate their thinking and help them acquire wisdom.
The character summary for tiger people is kind of interesting too.... I read it here. Read yours if you want... If you're bored.
(for entertainment purposes only. InsideKrisiasHead cannot be held responsible for anything resulting from any adviced followed as a result of reading this blog or reading anything on the links from this blog, or the links from those links. In fact, InsideKrisiasHead is totally irresponsible. I'm just bored and writing stupid garbage. If you really want something to do, read Violetta's blog, or look at Ryan's pictures. Now go, get a life.)
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Reading blogs
It's time.
I like reading blogs. But not just any blogs. My friends' blogs. I
posted a link to Mara's blog a few months back and I mentioned Vi's
Blog but didn't link to it.
Sometimes there are artists... musicians, painters, writers, whatever,
who don't realsie what they can do. Sometimes they have an inkling
that their stuff is good but they don't really believe you when you
rave about it. This is Vi.
When I read her blog, instead of just reading about her life or where
she is or what she's doing, I feel like I'm seeing it with her eyes,
I'm really inside her head. She doesn't just see things and then
describe them, she lets them affect her first, and then shares the
feeling with you. I LOVE her blog. But not as much as I love her.
Talking to Vi is like becoming a part of a magical world, where things
are so much more than what they look like, like looking at them
through a mushroom-shaped kaleidoscope, where a poster of a meerkat is
worthy of a quick stop of the car, where smiles are brought on by a
pedestrian curtsying to the driveer that stopped for her, where
backgammon is played with tiny silver dice on a tiny silver board in a
tiny cafe....
I can't describe Vi's writing. I don't have that ability to make
mental pictures move like she does. But I can send you to her. Drop in
and pay her a visit, and please tell her what you think. Let her know
when she makes you smile and laugh out loud.....
http://ThreeLeggeDuck.blogspot.com
I like reading blogs. But not just any blogs. My friends' blogs. I
posted a link to Mara's blog a few months back and I mentioned Vi's
Blog but didn't link to it.
Sometimes there are artists... musicians, painters, writers, whatever,
who don't realsie what they can do. Sometimes they have an inkling
that their stuff is good but they don't really believe you when you
rave about it. This is Vi.
When I read her blog, instead of just reading about her life or where
she is or what she's doing, I feel like I'm seeing it with her eyes,
I'm really inside her head. She doesn't just see things and then
describe them, she lets them affect her first, and then shares the
feeling with you. I LOVE her blog. But not as much as I love her.
Talking to Vi is like becoming a part of a magical world, where things
are so much more than what they look like, like looking at them
through a mushroom-shaped kaleidoscope, where a poster of a meerkat is
worthy of a quick stop of the car, where smiles are brought on by a
pedestrian curtsying to the driveer that stopped for her, where
backgammon is played with tiny silver dice on a tiny silver board in a
tiny cafe....
I can't describe Vi's writing. I don't have that ability to make
mental pictures move like she does. But I can send you to her. Drop in
and pay her a visit, and please tell her what you think. Let her know
when she makes you smile and laugh out loud.....
http://ThreeLeggeDuck.blogspot.com
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Snow Day!!!
What does it take to get a snow day? When I was living in Montreal, I distinctly remember more than once waking up to a half metre of snow on the ground (that would be almost 2 feet for you non-metrics), and everyone just took it in stride, life as usual. This morning I woke up to snow. I can't say how much in feet or metres, or even centimetres or inches, because really, there wasn't enough to actually measure depth. It only had 2 dimensions! It was enough to cover flat pieces of ground, but that's about it. Everyone was excited though. Keivan, who is 16, was the most excited. He didn't have school. They had a snow day. Two millimetres of snow (in the drifts) and it's a snow day. Geesh! The reason is that we are up on top of a mountain (more like a big hill, but a mountain in the north of spain sounds so much cooler). In fact the whole of Bilbao is surrounded by these mountains. It snowed on all of them last night, but as you go down towards the city it's just rain. Anyway, the reason is that the schoolbuses are afraid that with more snow in the forecast, they may not be able to get back down the hill in the afternoon to take kids home. What was funny to me was that Keivan was like "School is closed. the buses can't come!" and then ran out to take a bus to Bilbao to meet his friends. Does no one else see the irony?
Anyway, I meant to take a picture of the snow but it melted by 11.
The day's weather was a varying mixture of snow, rain, sleet and hail... The hail would cover the ground, then the rain would wash it away into clumpy puddles. Then the rain would turn into sleet and everything was slushy, then snow again... quite bizarre actually. Now there's thunder and lightning but no precipitation of any kind.
And there's the weather report for Bilbao.
I am going to go now because I am in the middle of a surreal msn chat....
Anyway, I meant to take a picture of the snow but it melted by 11.
The day's weather was a varying mixture of snow, rain, sleet and hail... The hail would cover the ground, then the rain would wash it away into clumpy puddles. Then the rain would turn into sleet and everything was slushy, then snow again... quite bizarre actually. Now there's thunder and lightning but no precipitation of any kind.
And there's the weather report for Bilbao.
I am going to go now because I am in the middle of a surreal msn chat....
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Sometimes the elevator doesn't go all the way to the top...
For the past few months I have been here in Spain looking for a job.
I'm trying to work in the restaurant sector in preparation for my
cafe. It's been difficult going, and I gave myself until the beginning
of January before starting to look at my other options.
Enter other options.
A couple of weeks ago a Bahá'à in my community asked me to give her
English classes. I told her that I am not an English teacher and have
absolutely no experience teaching English. She said that she didn't
care and she wanted the classes anyway. She wants to learn English,
and she also wants to be able to read the Bahá'à Writings in English.
Now this is a tall order, considering sometimes the Writings are tough
reading for native English speakers. Anyway she talked me into it,
mostly with the naming of a price that she was willing to pay me if I
gave it a try, and so I did. Two lessons later, we're both happy with
the start we've made, and she wants to refer me to other people to
teach English. However, each class is a lot of work for me, in terms
of preparation, and I realise that I have a lot to learn about English
grammar... "because it sounds right" hardly works as an explanation
for why something is said this way and not that. A couple of months
ago, I had called around to a few places that were advirtising for a
native English speaker to teach English. The pay was good, the hours
were good, but when I called they wouldn't give me the time of day
because I had no certification. So last week I filled out an
application form for the CELTA course at International House in
Barcelona. They called me for an interview and have since sent me an
invitation to join the course starting February 21.
So here goes. After an intensive month of training I'll be qualified
to teach English as a Foreign Language. I chose a certification that
is internationally recognised. There are a lot of them that are only
valid if you work for a certain company or chain of language schools,
and a couple that are universally recognised.
It's kinda weird though. I had considered the idea of getting this
qualification before I came to Spain, as an option. I was going to do
one of the online courses, until I found out that that isn't enough to
qualify you as an English teacher. For months I've been battling with
this because it feels a little like I failed to do what I wanted to do
and this is plan B. However, I realise that it's more of a failure to
be here unemployed, and here is something that I can do and be good
at, and there are a lot of opportunities in Bilbao and all over Spain
for that matter.
I have fallen in love with Bilbao. I really want to stay here. I love
the city and the energy of it. I've been getting more and more invlved
in the Bahá'à community here and I feel like I can do something, I've
started a couple of study circles and I really want to see them
through. Also Sheida wants to become a tutor and wants to take
advantage of the fact that I'm here and available, and can do the
sequence of courses with her. For me, it's a big help because I can do
them in Spanish and she can help me, so we're really learning
together.
Next week I'm going to go and visit the language schools here and see
if I can secure a job before I go, or at least make an inroads.
The pre-course task is about 20 hours of work and it looks tough. It
gives me some indication of what the course itself will be like. The
lady who interviewed me, Vicky, explained that the vast majority of
the students pass because their entry requirements are pretty
exacting. That way, they can be sure that the people who are doing the
course are capable of doing well.
Anyway, the reason for the title of this blog entry is because the
first day I went to Carmen's house to give her her English class, I
was told that she lived on the 6th floor. I got in the elevator, and
pressed 5, which was as high as it went. I thought that maybe it was
the 6th floor if you count the ground floor as 1, or something like
that. So I get off the elevator and there are 3 doors. Now I know she
is supposed to be at 6th floor derecha, so I look at the door on the
left (which is on the right as you come up the stairs, which I've
figured out, is the way they do it) and it says 5 derecha. So then I'm
thinking, hmmmmmm I took the elevator to the top, but here I am on the
5th floor.... I head for the stairwell, and sure enough there's
another flight up! I go up, and there it is 6th right.... The elevator
didn't go all the way to the top! I thought that was just an
expression! Of course it's no reflection on Carmen or anyone who lives
on the 6th floor... it's the penthouse....
I'm trying to work in the restaurant sector in preparation for my
cafe. It's been difficult going, and I gave myself until the beginning
of January before starting to look at my other options.
Enter other options.
A couple of weeks ago a Bahá'à in my community asked me to give her
English classes. I told her that I am not an English teacher and have
absolutely no experience teaching English. She said that she didn't
care and she wanted the classes anyway. She wants to learn English,
and she also wants to be able to read the Bahá'à Writings in English.
Now this is a tall order, considering sometimes the Writings are tough
reading for native English speakers. Anyway she talked me into it,
mostly with the naming of a price that she was willing to pay me if I
gave it a try, and so I did. Two lessons later, we're both happy with
the start we've made, and she wants to refer me to other people to
teach English. However, each class is a lot of work for me, in terms
of preparation, and I realise that I have a lot to learn about English
grammar... "because it sounds right" hardly works as an explanation
for why something is said this way and not that. A couple of months
ago, I had called around to a few places that were advirtising for a
native English speaker to teach English. The pay was good, the hours
were good, but when I called they wouldn't give me the time of day
because I had no certification. So last week I filled out an
application form for the CELTA course at International House in
Barcelona. They called me for an interview and have since sent me an
invitation to join the course starting February 21.
So here goes. After an intensive month of training I'll be qualified
to teach English as a Foreign Language. I chose a certification that
is internationally recognised. There are a lot of them that are only
valid if you work for a certain company or chain of language schools,
and a couple that are universally recognised.
It's kinda weird though. I had considered the idea of getting this
qualification before I came to Spain, as an option. I was going to do
one of the online courses, until I found out that that isn't enough to
qualify you as an English teacher. For months I've been battling with
this because it feels a little like I failed to do what I wanted to do
and this is plan B. However, I realise that it's more of a failure to
be here unemployed, and here is something that I can do and be good
at, and there are a lot of opportunities in Bilbao and all over Spain
for that matter.
I have fallen in love with Bilbao. I really want to stay here. I love
the city and the energy of it. I've been getting more and more invlved
in the Bahá'à community here and I feel like I can do something, I've
started a couple of study circles and I really want to see them
through. Also Sheida wants to become a tutor and wants to take
advantage of the fact that I'm here and available, and can do the
sequence of courses with her. For me, it's a big help because I can do
them in Spanish and she can help me, so we're really learning
together.
Next week I'm going to go and visit the language schools here and see
if I can secure a job before I go, or at least make an inroads.
The pre-course task is about 20 hours of work and it looks tough. It
gives me some indication of what the course itself will be like. The
lady who interviewed me, Vicky, explained that the vast majority of
the students pass because their entry requirements are pretty
exacting. That way, they can be sure that the people who are doing the
course are capable of doing well.
Anyway, the reason for the title of this blog entry is because the
first day I went to Carmen's house to give her her English class, I
was told that she lived on the 6th floor. I got in the elevator, and
pressed 5, which was as high as it went. I thought that maybe it was
the 6th floor if you count the ground floor as 1, or something like
that. So I get off the elevator and there are 3 doors. Now I know she
is supposed to be at 6th floor derecha, so I look at the door on the
left (which is on the right as you come up the stairs, which I've
figured out, is the way they do it) and it says 5 derecha. So then I'm
thinking, hmmmmmm I took the elevator to the top, but here I am on the
5th floor.... I head for the stairwell, and sure enough there's
another flight up! I go up, and there it is 6th right.... The elevator
didn't go all the way to the top! I thought that was just an
expression! Of course it's no reflection on Carmen or anyone who lives
on the 6th floor... it's the penthouse....
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Truffles in Czech
Neisan just got back from a multileg journey that took him to Czech Republic and all over Spain. While he was in Czech Republic he met up with some friends of mine. I sent some truffles that I made for Sebastien and they took a series of pictures of him receiving the truffles, sharing the truffles, other people eating the truffles, but none of Sebastien actually eating them, which leads me to believe he didn't actually eat them... However, he also got Neisan to pose for some shots to match the ones we took in Lliria in August last year.
It's kinda funny, especially since Neisan wasn't in Lliria last August and had absolutely no idea what these crazy poses were all about. Thanks, Neisan for being a great sport, and thanks, Sebastien for all the memories revisited. All those pictures from Neisan are here.
There were also a number of ex-BWC staff, all of whose names I don't remember so instead of showing who I don't remember, won't name any of them. Also a couple of other friends, such as Jason Ighani and Shamim, and some random other people I met in Europe this summer. Enjoy the photos!
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Guggenheim... again!
So they've put this booth in front of the Guggenheim, near the cubes,next to the river. It has a little camera and you stick a 1 euro coin in it and it makes you a 15 second video and e-mails you a link to it to share with your friends. I no longer have any idea who is reading this blog, so I don't know if you are my friend or not, but if you are, and would like to see a bad-quality, 15 second video of me with Nasim and Leila in front of the Guggenheim yesterday before I took them into the cubes, then click here. It was fun,and a cool idea.It was kind of funny to get an e-mail starting with "Hello krisia haynes, I am Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and I have a video of you...." Kinda scary actually.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Winter School in Lliria
I've just spent a few days in Lliria at Winter school. Here are some pictures that I took before my camera battery died.
Once again I was the vegetarian cook. The vegetarians loved the food, and so did the carnivores who got to try it. At the beginning of the school there were 3 vegetarians registered. By the 3rd day, we had a big problem, as there were 21 people claiming to be vegetarians! In Spain! Go figure! So for the next school we're going to have to be more strict about preregistration of meal choice. We had only prepared for about 10. I was actually asked to prepare the food for the whole school next time, which means about 150 people. I think I am going to have to say no to that. It's one thing preparing meals for 10 to 30 people.... 150 people, 2 meals a day for a week (breakfast is continental buffet)? I think not.
Anyway, back to the Winter school. It started last Wednesday, I got there on Monday. We did some shopping, hung out and prepared. At sometime in those initial days of preparation, we got word that Mr. Dunbar, a member of the Universal House of Justice, was coming on Friday and Saturday. I was ecstatic. When I was in Haifa, Mr. Dunbar used to(and still does, and has for years) give a class for the youth every Thursday. Topics varied from studies of different Writings of Shoghi Effendi, including the Foreword to God Passes By, the Dispensation of Bahá'u'lláh, and others, to personal stories of his travels and adventures, to question and answer sessions, and pretty much everything. I always felt that during his classes he was answering questions I had, without me even having to ask them!
During this Winter school, because I was cooking, I couldn't attend the sessions, but I did attend all of Mr. Dunbar's talks. Again, I felt like he was addressing things I was wondering about. The other cool thing was that it was in Spanish and I was able to understand every word.
Mr. Dunbar's class is one of the things I really miss about Haifa, and it was wonderful to have a taste of it again.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
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)
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)
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
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....
Saturday, December 25, 2004
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....
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....
Thursday, December 23, 2004
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!
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!
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