Friends

Turkish, Egyptian, Israeli, Lebanese, Greek, Scottish and German food covered all available spaces such as tables, counters and nothing else you think of placing food.

Beloved grinned at the sights and the smells and marveled at my “United Nations of friends” as he put it. But not all of my friends were represented at this gathering, not in person and not by dish of origin. However a lot of them were here, to meet Beloved and welcome him into the circle the only way they knew how, with a pot luck. Since it was being held at our place, we were responsible for things like beverages, dishes and cutlery. Easy enough to manage indeed.

He held my hand as I introduced to him to far too many people in such a short period of time, mentioning names and countries as we went. He stumbled over names that were foreign to his tongue, listened to different accents and basically grinned with bewilderment and excitement.

His world, his friends are varied, but to as greatly and so I had been saved from this type of ordeal myself when meeting them. His family though was another story because they used the same name several times over within the family until it seemed like every other male was Johnny or some variation of that.

When the party had ended I remember him saying that at least we’d have guides in a whole bunch of different countries, if we wanted to visit them. Laughingly,I’m confessed I’d already taken advantage of such things in the past, and it was a truly lovely blessing indeed. Of course his friends were also a lovely blessing even if they do all come from basically the same area.

That’s one of the best things with friends, not only do they get us, accept us and like us. They take us on adventures, introduce us to new places and ideas. And they don’t hesitate to break bread with us, share a drink to wet a dry throat. Friends are, in a sense, the food and water, of life. The types of food or drink may very, but the love and open hospitality remains the same. Differences between countries and ideals are ignored because with friends there are no borders. There is just a warn embrace, a welcoming smile and the acceptance of their love.

Block By Block Building Peace or Whatever You Dream

The problem with Lego is that it’s addicting. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are, put Lego out and people are drawn to it. It’s as if they can’t help themselves. The Lego calls and oh it calls.

Lego demands attention. To also demands that you play with it, create with it. Failure to do so may result in horrible foot pain…as in stepping on a stray block of it. (Who knew that stuff could cause so much pain considering it really isn’t that big?!)

Lego turns even the most conservative of people in to creating demons. Structural rules are tossed out the window and free-flowing organic thought can be applied.

Pity that Lego people are so rigid and uncreative. But no worries, if there is enough Lego you can sort of build your own.

Heck with enough Lego you can build your own country and all the infrastructure for it. Maybe that’s what we need to get along,just lots and lots of Lego!

Cameras and Souls

I’m not a fan of the camera. Well I am, as long as it isn’t pointed at me. I despise having my photo taken for any reason. I’m not the only person who feels this way obviously and yet there are people out there who think everyone wants his/her picture taken.

Beloved has a thing with cameras, he adores them. He takes photos of everything from a sunrise to a sunset; birds and trees; rain and puddles; and food and cooking. That’s just part of the list. He also likes to take pictures of people, candid pictures of friends and family.

While going thru some recent photos he mused that it appeared as though I didn’t exist in his life, not by his pictures. There are two pictures he has of me, both with my head turned away, hand held up to hide from the lens. They are good shots of my hair and hand really. Surely that’s enough evidence of me in his life in pictures. I mean if I were Big Foot he’d be thrilled with that kind of evidence.

As good as he has gotten at getting candid photos, I’ve become as adept at evening a camera is near by and thus I vanish. I like being a wisp or a ghost in these photos. I’m happy as a blur, but he says it isn’t true representation of me as. A person. He also says its utter foolishness to hide from the camera and still go out in public. His logic is that if I hate having my picture taken it must be because I dislike my physical appearance. Following that logic why go out in public, except of course I must go out. The truth is it isn’t me hating my appearance, I’ve come to finding a sense of comfort being in my own skin and who I am, I just dislike cameras. That picture is a blink of who or what I was at a given time.

And I know what some of you are thinking, with technology today it’s hard to avoid having your image captured. I like the idea of not having my image captured so that my soul is free as some cultures and religions ascribe to. I like the idea that we are more than just an image and we are ever-changing.

Selling Feature, or It’s A Matter of Perspective

The kitchen was supposed to be a selling feature. It probably was, if you were into spending lots of time in kitchens. I’ve never considered a kitchen to be a selling feature.

Kitchens, were at one time, torture chambers. They were places I HAD to spend some time in because frankly who has money to eat out every meal every day? Who has that for a life time?m certainly not me! And since I’m rather fond of this thing called adventure, aka life, it meant I had to eat. And since I wasn’t rich, it meant I had to prepare my own food. Preparing my own food meant time in, yes you guessed it, the kitchen. (Queue scary music now.)

I’ve gone from dreading the kitchen to seeing it as a necessary evil. Think being stuck in a line for some government service, no matter which country you live in, you know what I’m talking about. That slow-moving line that you’d rather not be in, but you are required to renew or register for something and it must be done in person with ID and probably the soul of your first and last born. Well okay maybe not the souls of the children or even he children, it just seems that way!

When you go from reading something to accepting it, you tend not to hide from that space until the very last moment. So I started spending a bit more time in the kitchen. Not a lot, but enough to not have to go on a scavenger just to find a pot or a pan. I mean I stated knowing where I put stuff in my own kitchen!

And then friends I did something utterly foolish. I moved from one place to another. My new place didn’t have the same types of stores so If I wanted ful medames or shakshuka I had to make it, which meant more time in my kitchen.

A light bulb clicked and my kitchen went from being a torture place and necessary evil to my laboratory! A place to experiment and play. Granted it wasn’t exactly like a lab as I have bowls and cups and dishes and pots instead of beakers and such, but still! And there have been times I’ve felt that I was creating was gaining a life of its own, which is horrifying when you consider it’s only food. There have been failures, flops and success in that lab. Beloved says as long as there are no petri dishes it’s okay.

So a kitchen isn’t a selling feature for me, but I will say this, I’ve come to enjoy the space in the lab. And the view out the window is nice too! And the equipment, well yes there is that! Because let’s face it, a lab is a perfect selling feature, at least for girls like me! ;)

Engineered Personality

He made sure that his ring was noticeable to everyone. His ring announced he was important, he was SOMEONE. Except no one in the room cared about his ring. A woman made a passing comment that her husband also wore his wedding ring on his pinky finger. The man, puffing him self up, used his most important voice to announce that he was “an engineer, you can tell be the ring,” but the truth is that lady couldn’t tell.

To got me to thinking about the symbols people wear or display to show their “status” or “profession”. Not that you see a lot of doctors roaming the streets with their stethoscopes causally draped around their necks. But then doctors aren’t engineers are they? Doctors do not need those symbols as the have titles and such.

What about teachers?m do you see them wearing textbooks or such? Nope and yet the play a huge role on the lives of us all. Good teachers inspire us, encourage us and develop our gifts. Teachers also do not need to wear a symbol, they know what they do.

You don’t see other profession behave this way. Parents though tend to wear markings of that profession. Sometimes it’s in dirty handprints on freshly laundered clothes, other times it’s a missed bit if baby spit-up. Maybe it’s a toy or a noodle necklace made just for mommy or daddy. Perhaps it’s in a parent’s expression.

So what makes an engineer so special? Historically, maybe, once upon a time, or long long ago and far far a way, they may have been more in line with shamans. Tell that to a modern engineer and watch a sneer possibly cross his/her face. Engineers are about facts and math.

Shamans are about the spirits, the other worlds, the unexplained and the healing. A shaman would and does wear symbols, but they tend to be symbols of their trade that allow them to connect with the world and beings that the rest of us cannot see. Shamans doesn’t need to announce what they are because it’s obvious, powerfully obvious.

So what is it about engineers? What makes them so different? Does their education engineer their behavior and mind-set to something a bit off from the rest of us?

Ladies and Women; Gentlemen and Men

A lady never drinks hard liquor. A lady never runs wild. A lady never curses.

A woman’s place is in peace, and the home place. A woman’s place is in the kitchen. A woman’s place is behind her man.

These are messages I heard growing up. Not all from my parents, although I do recall that my mother was adamant that a lady never chews with her mouth open. And I believe my father said a woman doesn’t box.

Well I never aspired to be a lady, although I do chew with my mouth closed now. ;)

I have drunk hard liquor and rather find it to my liking. I’ve been known to curse like a “drunken sailor” (why it’s the poor sailor who’s had a few too many that we use as a standard is beyond me). And run wild? Yep I sure have when it suits. I’ve also spat to get bugs out of my mouth and again I’m pretty sure a lady doesn’t do that either.

Home is where the heart is, but it doesn’t mean I stay in the home. I also don’t always save for peace because I have opinions and such. I’m hardly ever behind my man because I prefer to be at his side. Interestingly enough he too prefers me at his side. And as for me in the kitchen? Sure I have to be there at times, to cook so I can eat. But I don’t spend all my time in the kitchen.

Thankfully I don’t live in a time where I have to confirm to certain limitations. A lady can do the classy things or the crass thing. A woman can do anything she sets her mind to. For that matter a gentleman can be class or working class. A man can do anything he sets his mind to a so well. For ladies and gentlemen are a state of behavior and state of mind. A woman or man is simply a qualifier based on gender.

What Is A Girl to Do?

What’s a girl to do when she has a flat tire? Change it, I suppose or get someone else to change it. Or she can opt to have a mode of transportation that doesn’t have wheels at all. Say, a broomstick perhaps! ;)

Of course broomsticks have their own issues and there are hazards to riding one. Most people don’t realize these things, which is a pity.

If you’ve ever been on a motorcycle, one that’s traveling fast, and you see a bug coming street for you well then I guess you know one of the hazards of riding a broomstick. Bugs hurt folks. Sure they got splat, but not before hey hit you hard, and then you have to deal with the nasty mess too. And in case you didn’t notice, broomsticks do not have wipers. Ah things I do to ride my broomstick, sleeves has been sacrified for all variety of splattered bug bits.

If you are a traditionalist then the wood style is just for you, only be careful as they splinter. Taking a wooden broomstick up is not for the faint of heart. All that pressure and humidity from clouds just warps the wood and soon you have cracks and splinters. And no one, I mean no one, wants a splinter from getting on or off or ridding a broomstick.

Besides bugs and splinters there is weather to consider. How dies a girl dress for the weather, and dress for her broomstick and still look fashionable? If the pointy hat is for formal occasions only then I guess the pointy-toed shoes are for fashion, fun and frivolity.

There are birds and bats to consider as well. Hitting a bird at any rate of speed while traveling in your broomstick is going to make a huge mess. Planes must be dealt with and well that’s just the beginning.

There are no rest areas for those of us who travel by broomstick. Nope, poor us we must come down, land and then make use of what’s already there,for people who use cars etc.

And forget the fashionable hairstyles ladies because wind-blown is going to be the only look you get. Unless you have hairspray that will withstand hurricane force winds. If you are in possession of such stuff, share where you got it from.

So you see, for those of you who decided to travel by broomstick, it isn’t all just hop on it and go. One day I will detail for the full process and what’s involved, but for now I have to deal with a flat tire and broken broomstick. Don’t ask. Just please, do not ask how or why. ;). Just stick to the car ladies, stick to the car! ;)