zah'ra

The world is watching!

2009-06-20T13:56:00.004-05:00

Hey that's no way to say goodbye!

2009-06-07T20:10:00.001-05:00

Stand by me

2009-04-30T05:45:00.000-05:00

Playing For Change | Song Around The World "Stand By Me" from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

Lost Generation

2009-04-04T09:10:00.000-05:00

Food of love

2009-03-21T18:44:00.002-05:00

If music be the food of love, play on.

Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Twelfth Night, Act 1, scene 1

Her morning elegance (Oren Lavie)

2009-03-04T19:06:00.002-06:00

Her Morning Elegance / Oren Lavie

http://www.myspace.com/orenlavie

Free hugs!

2009-01-18T05:18:00.003-06:00

Corporate hugs? Now there's a interesting concept!

-17 C, I could use a hug...

Libros de la República Dominicana / Books of the Dominican Republic

2008-12-04T06:49:00.012-06:00

A big thanks goes out to NALs of DR1 for publishing this excellent list of links to eBooks on the Dominican Republic. This will be a great way to practice my Spanish and learn more about this beautiful country, it's people, language, art, music, nature, history and yes even béisbol, cerveza y tabaco.

For the complete collections, visit these sites:

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - La naturaleza dominicana

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes
Memoria de la pintura dominicana, by Danilo Dos Santos

Los siguientes enlaces de descargas directas forman parte del Tomo 8

Continuidad de los lenguajes 1980 / 1990:

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Historia de la cerveza en la R.D.

Historia de la cerveza en la República Dominicana

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - El Tabaco: historia general en R.D.

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Huella y memoria

Huella y memoria - E. León Jimenes: un siglo en el camino nacional 1903 - 2003

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Arquitectura dominicana

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Pasión por la luz

Pasión por la luz - Dos portafolios • Two Portfolios

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Antes que te vayas

Antes de que te vayas...Historia del Merengue Folklórico

Colección Centenaria del Grupo León Jimenes - Cómo hablamos los dominicanos

Colección Centenario del Grupo León Jimenes - Cincuenta años de vida sindical

Cincuenta años de vida sindical

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - El siglo XX dominicano

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - Santo Domingo

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - Arte dominicano / Pintura

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - Arte dominicano / Escultura

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - El merengue

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - El béisbol

Colección Cultural de CODETEL - Gastronomía dominicana

Colección Pensamiento Dominicano

Colección Banreservas- Fundación Juan Bosch

Reloj de Sol

Colección Banreservas

Diccionario Biográfico de los Restauradores de la República

Colección Bibliófilos Banreservas

Ahmad Shamloo - The Fish

2008-11-29T17:36:00.003-06:00

The Fish

I don't suppose
my heart was ever
warm and red
like this before.

I sense that

in the worst moments of this black, death-feeding repast
a thousand thousand well-springs of sunlight,
stemming from certitude,
well up in my heart.

I sense, further, that

in every nook and cranny of this salt barrenness of despair
a thousand thousand joy forests,
stemming from the soil,
are suddenly springing.

Oh, lost certitude, oh, sea-creature

fleeing in the concentric,

shivering,

mirroring pools,

I am the clear pool:

mesmerized by love,
search out a path for me
among the mirror pools.

I don't think
my hand was ever
strong and alive
like this, before.

I sense that

at the flow of blood-red tears in my eyes
a duskless sun pours forth a song.

I sense that

in my every vein,
in time with my every heart beat,
the warning bell of a departing caravan tolls.

She, bare, came

one evening
through the door
like the soul of water.

At her breast
two fish
In her hand a mirror
Her wet hair,

moss fragrance, intertwined moss.

On the threshold of despair,
I bellowed: Ah, oh retrieved certitude.

I won't put you again aside.

~ Ahmad Shamloo

Translation: M. C. Hillman

Amhad Shamloo - In this deadend

2008-11-29T17:04:00.006-06:00

In this deadend

They smell your breath.
You better not have said, "I love you."
They smell your heart.
These are strange times, darling...
And they flog
love
at the roadblock.
We had better hide love in the closet...
In this crooked dead end and twisting chill,
they feed the fire
with the kindling of song and poetry.
Do not risk a thought.
These are strange times, darling...
He who knocks on the door at midnight
has come to kill the light.
We had better hide light in the closet...
Those there are butchers
stationed at the crossroads
with bloody clubs and cleavers.
These are strange times, darling...
And they excise smiles from lips
and songs from mouths.
We had better hide joy in the closet...
Canaries barbecued
on a fire of lilies and jasmine,
these are strange times, darling...
Satan drunk with victory
sits at our funeral feast.
We had better hide God in the closet.

~Ahmad Shamloo, July 1979
(Translation: M. C. Hillmann)

Official Website of Ahmad Shamloo

For Miriam Makeba

2008-11-12T00:07:00.003-06:00

"At Heaven's Gate when we meet the mysterious person we shall not pour out a veritable lament of excuses but be able to show that life was a playground of possibilities, a laboratory of intelligence and freedom and that living was a space of secular miracles, where amazing things were done in consciousness and in history."

From 'In Arcadia,' by Ben Okri

Miriam Makeba (4 Mar 1932 - 9 Nov 2008)

2008-11-11T23:38:00.003-06:00

Lest we forget

2008-11-11T21:03:00.004-06:00

Today was Remembrance Day and we commemorate it here in Canada on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month with a minute of silence for all those to died in war serving our country.

Adegem Canadian War Cemetery is a special place for my family. It's located midway between Brugge (17 km) and Gent (26 km) on the N9 which connects the two towns. From Brugge, Adegem is approached via Sijsele and Maldegem. On reaching Adegem, the cemetery is located on the Prins Boudewijn Laan, on the right hand side of the N9.

In the last week of September 1944, the Allies held the city of Antwerp, but the Germans held both shores of the Scheldt estuary, so that the port of Antwerp could not be used. The task of clearing the southern shore of the estuary was allotted to the 3rd Canadian Division, aided by the 4th Canadian Armoured Division and the 52nd Division. Their operations lasted from October until the beginning of November 1944. By 3rd November the Germans had been cleared from the north-west corner of Belgium and the south shore of the Scheldt was free. There had been fierce fighting for two weeks for the crossing of the Leopold Canal. The majority of the men buried at Adegem died during the operations for the clearance of the south bank of the Scheldt; but many Canadians who lost their lives elsewhere in Belgium were also brought here for burial.

Amidst the Canadians buried there, is my father's young cousin.
Private JOHN BRYCE BETHUNE
who died on October 19, 1944
Military Service:Service Number: D/143410

He was just twenty years old and served with the Stormont, Dundas and Glengarry Highlanders, R.C.I.C., son of Donald George and Margaret (Forbes) Bethune, of Montreal, Province of Quebec.

Thank you John.

From Yorkshire to Shipton, Quebec in 1830

2008-10-26T20:14:00.005-05:00

I've been working on my family tree for years now and I'm finally making progress. I recently received some information that helped make a break-through. The Hall family came from Hive, Yorkshire, England. and settled in Shipton (Richmond) Quebec. Some of them arrived in in 1820 and my great, great, great grandfather came in 1830 -- Thomas Hall and Hannah (Bissett) with six of their children. It's fascinating to read some of their accounts of the trip over and their journey to Shipton, Quebec, Canada East.

The Hall family had an eventful voyage out, the vessel having run ashore at Little Metis, below Quebec, but without any casualites save the stranding of the fourteen passengers in a strange country, as the the ship got afloat she sailed without them. But the Hall family were fortunate in finding an old friend and townsman located near Metis, thence they journeyed to Rimouski, and from there they were conveyed by boat to Three Rivers... crossing to Nicolet, they travelled to this neighbourhood.

In spite of the many adversities, a strong religious faith seemed to carry them through. Susannah Bissett Mansell, aunt of Thomas' wife, and herself a pioneer settler near Ottawa, writes in 1821 of her sea voyage:

I embrace the first opportunity of informing you of our safe arrival and good health, hoping this will find you and yours well. We had a very good passage - a very good and kind captain.... You will be surprised when I tell you I proved a good sailor, at least far above what I expected. All my dread and fear took a final leave of me from leaving Hull to seeing America. Instead of it proving a great trial as was expected, it has prove quite the reverse. indeed we was sick a few days but none of us half so bad as we expected. if I had the journey to take again i should think very little about it. My faith was so wonderfully strengthened in the Almighty God that i did not feel the least degree of fear, not even when the seas was casting over our heads as we lay in our beds through the dark shade of the night. Praise the Lord for his goodness to me and mine.

New news is good news...

2008-10-26T20:11:00.002-05:00

I had my second screening (mammogram and ultrasound) and they said they would call me if they thought I would need to investigate further.

No call, so no news is good news.

Recalled

2008-10-07T19:47:00.002-05:00

I got a call today from the Breast clinic. Of course I missed it. My phone was at home.
Oh here we go ahead. Another anxious week ahead until I get to the bottom of it.
I'm sure it's nothing. Well let's hope it's nothing. Maybe they were calling to say it was nothing. Shit!

Tostones, que rico!

2008-10-06T20:32:00.005-05:00

There's no way I'm going to be ready for a bikini, if I keep this up.

My daughter Shirin is going through some stress. Boy trouble. She called me on the way home and asked me to make potato wedges. That's red alert. Emotional storm rolling in.

So I made them, because that's what mothers do,
show their love with food. Comfort food.

Potatoes, quartered.
Salt, fresh ground pepper, garlic spice powder.
Paprika, Italian seasoning.
Olive oil.
Bake at 375F, turning until golden.

Made some salad. Must have some vitamins after all.
Tomato, avocado, onion, cilantro, mixed greens and lemon juice and oil.

Corn on the cob. And finally the comfort food to end all comfort foods.

Tostones
Green plantain. Peeled, sliced.
Fried in oil until light golden colour.
Strained and blotted on paper towel.
Add some salt... flatten them with the potato masher. (That's how I make them.)
Press them down to create little medallions and refry
until they become greasy golden goodness.
Strain and blot on paper towels.
Enjoy!

Carbohydrate overdose. All is good, everything will be okay.

I had my mammogram today!

2008-09-30T20:55:00.002-05:00

I had my mammogram today. It's been more than two years since my last one so I'm glad I finally booked my appointment with the CIBC Breast Centre. I had the mammogram and the nurse did a breast examination. I have fibrocystic breast disease. I've had that for more than 25 years now, so I've always participated in breast screening and breast studies. Two years ago I got called back after having my mammogram. They said they found a change. All through the Christmas holidays I was mentally preparing to die. I returned for a second exam and found out is was a benign change that's related to aging. But it was nightmare waiting for the test results.

Be sure to have a mammogram. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month here in Canada. I might even do the 5K Run for the Cure if I ever get over this cold. I suppose I could always walk it. Wish me luck on the mammogram.

"Spirit orbs" from my friend

2008-09-12T14:48:00.005-05:00

My friends are mocking me!

I told a friend at lunch about my orb pictures and he sent me an email with a link to a "spirit orb." He knows my secret... that I'm a vegetarian, but I occasionally eat bacon.

This what he sent me...

It's dust! Yes... that's it!

2008-09-11T20:47:00.003-05:00

I just talked to my neighbour and he says it's just dust illuminated by the flash. Phew! Then he told me that he doesn't believe in spirits because he's an atheist but he believes in werewolves! LOL so I'm not flaky, but he is. What a relief! But last night I dreamt about a big funnel cloud outside my window, do you think it was a vortex? Or a worm hole? With the price of fuel taxes on flights these days, a worm hole might be an affordable means of travel...

Salsa orb

2008-09-11T20:29:00.002-05:00

I like to dance and I'll call this one, the salsa orb!

More orbs?

2008-09-11T20:08:00.003-05:00

Here you can see two of them to the right and one appears to the right in the photo above.

At first I laughed it off, but then I started to read about them and I wondered who they were if in fact they were spirits. My dining room table is covered with photocopies of birth, marriage, census and death registrations from my ancestors who came to Canada from Scotland, Ireland and England in the early 1800s. I often joke that I'm closer to my dead relatives than my living ones.... Tell me it's just light reflecting around dust!

You're going to think I'm flaky...

2008-09-11T19:55:00.003-05:00

Do you believe that spirits can be captured by digital photography? A friend of mine was taking some photos of me and these strange round dots of light appeared in the images. He said they were spirits, that digital cameras can capture there presence. Do you believe that. This one has two dots joined together. He said maybe it was mother protecting me! I don't believe in this sort of thing, I usually look for scientific explanations. What do you think? I have several photos with balls of light in them in different places in the image so it's not the lense. I googled around the Web and came across many photos that claim to capture orbs. Do you think I'm flaky?

Meaning within the mess

2008-08-31T10:47:00.003-05:00

Here's my mother and father on their honeymoon in the Laurentian mountains just prior to my father's enlistment in the 1st Canadian Parachute battalion. A life of financial hardship, a collection of pennies, a commitment to peace, a passion for life.

My messy music collection

2008-08-31T10:45:00.002-05:00

Beauty and the Mess

2008-08-31T10:43:00.002-05:00

A closer look at my mess.

2008-08-31T10:42:00.002-05:00

What a mess!

2008-08-31T10:38:00.005-05:00

This inspired by the post of a fellow blogger.

http://digitalpolaroids.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-mess-meme.html

Here's my mess.

My late grandfather's maple furniture. Dusty mirror with reflection of more mess. An ugly colonial-style lamp from my late parents furnishings. A collection of jewelery boxes. Two of late mother's, the carved wooden one of my disabled brothers', my lacquered and inlaid Russian ones, the little Persian miniature silver one. Assorted costume jewelery, flash tape for holding clothing in place for salsa dancing, lighter, nicotine gum to quit smoking, makeup, post-it notes with phone numbers, business cards, library card, body lotion from the Marien hotel in Puerto Plata, currency from the Islamic Republic of Iran, photo of my daughter Shirin. I'm very sentimental, it's hard to let go of things because they carry meaning and memories of people I love.

Just the beginning...

2008-08-06T10:59:00.002-05:00

Oh my God, this is how it all begins...

Mammary madness for dumb blondes

2008-07-10T12:38:00.012-05:00

America has long suffered from mammary madness. Hollywood cinema augmented the blonde Marliyn Monroe's image of tits and ass and little girl innocence to a new proportions. She became an icon and the meaning and symbolism associated with her image influenced female gender identity thereafter.

Here's an artist with an interesting take on Barbie -- the other lengendary dumb blonde that inhabits the world of little girls everywhere.
Chris Jordan - Photographic Arts

Barbie Dolls, 2008
60x80"
Depicts 32,000 Barbies, equal to the number of elective breast augmentation surgeries performed monthly in the US in 2006.

Zoomed

From the exhibit Running the Numbers
An American Self-Portrait
Chris Jordan

July 1st - Canada Day

2008-06-30T22:03:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow going to be a big day, unfortunately all the supermarkets will be closed.

Estimada Margaret,

Hoy podrían sorprenderte cambios repentinos en tu situación romántica, Margaret. Si estás comprometida en una relación, puedes recibir alguna propuesta sorprendente de tu pareja. Si estás involucrada pero no comprometida, finalmente podrías recibir una propuesta de casamiento. Si no estás involucrada actualmente, podrías conocer alguien nuevo e interesante en circunstancias inusuales. Asegúrate de verte hoy mejor que nunca ¡aunque tengas que ir nada más que al supermercado!

I won't say anything, if you don't say anything!

2008-06-28T10:58:00.005-05:00

Hello Seahorse!

MySpace: hello seahorse

www.helloseahorse.com

Saturday morning on Via Venezia

2008-06-28T08:57:00.013-05:00

My daughter the former Starbucks barista who is dating a Starbucks barista supervisor has been working on me for more than a year to get an espresso machine. I always prided myself on my little humble Italian stovetop maker turning my nose up at anyone who needed an espresso machine. It was cheap, easy, small, portable. I took it on picnics and camping trips in Algonquin Park where I was one of few in the bush who enjoyed espresso every morning while others had to drink campfire-perked dishwater coffee complete with grounds floating in their cups.

Last night, Shirin came home with a 50% off minus the 45% employee discounted machine - a Saeco Via Venezia. We went 50/50 on it, $77.50 each. Seems fair, it wasn't my idea after all. She wore me down finally.

We spent the evening clearing the perfect place for it in my tiny kitchen, washing the parts, reading the instructions, deliberating over which cups to use, doing trial runs. We made espresso shots, steamed milk latte macchiatos, made cappucinos, and cafe lattes with steamed chocolate soy milk. Fired-up on caffeine, content with our mastery of the machine, the filter, the pannarello, at 3:30 am we were wide-eyed and staring at her laptop watching our third episode of Sex in the City coincidentally one where Carrie has her first fight with her Russian boyfriend fueled by espresso coffee. Finally, we packed it in at 4:00 am and went to bed!

So here I am after my second cup of espresso, perky and enjoying Saturday morning on Via Venezia watching episode four while sipping Shirin's latest concoction a caffe macchiato.

Sometimes you think you lost something, but really you won!

2008-06-26T06:48:00.005-05:00

Did you ever get so excited about the possibility of something, turning that idea over and over in your mind until you are enchanted with it? Thinking about it in the last moment before sleep at night, waking up to the idea first thing in the morning. What enchantment, such obsession - infatuation.

Then you lose it, perhaps you never had it. Well in fact you never had it. It was just an idea pregnant with possibility. And when you examine it from another angle, you see it in another light and you realize what you thought you saw was just your own wishful thinking and a reflection of your own inner beauty that perhaps you can't even recognize.

Well if you get that far, perhaps you haven't lost at all, you've won.

Money from heaven

2008-06-20T16:39:00.005-05:00

Nothing makes me so excited as finding money - "money from heaven". I think this dates back to my childhood when I would take all cushions off of the sofa and find pennies, nickles, and dimes that dropped out of pockets. Or when I was playing the dirt and I found a penny from 1903 with King Edward on it. Maybe it's my mother's fault because she used lay claim to any money left in pockets that she found while doing laundry and seemed to be very pleased with herself when she found a $10 or $20. (It was worth more then...)

But you never saw me so excited as the night I found a $20 dollar US bill crumpled up in a bag on the floor of the walk-in closet at the Oasis Hamaca. I was literally dancing up and down and then I found another bill -- a $10. I even had Darlene excited. Then suddenly I realized that the bag was mine and that the bills dropped out of my own jean pocket hanging above. What a fool I was! It was my own money.

Darlene and I had a good laugh and we thought about creating a new blonde for the Blonde blog. Bimbo Barbie Blonde and we would attribute all our stupid things to her and never have to take ownership ourselves. But I'm confessing to this, because we may never get that blog going again and I'm desperate to blog about anything ...

Today was casual Friday and we get to wear jeans to work. I put mine on. Pulled them right out of my still unpacked suitcase. And guess what I found in the pockets? A 1000 and a 500 peso note and a rumpled US 1$ bill! I didn't dance but I thought about the Bimbo Barbie Blonde at the Oasis Hamaca and considered checking all my pockets to see what else I would find.

Cheers Luis and Happy Father's Day!

2008-06-15T23:14:00.006-05:00

To my first and most adorable Dominican... my dear friend Luis

Happy Father's Day! It was a pleasure to meet you at last!

My birthday blonde

2008-06-15T23:04:00.003-05:00

Happy Birthday to the dancing blonde of Puerto Plata (Terrazo Caribe, Canita, Rancho Tipico)! I'm probabbly the only gringa to the visit the Dominican Republic to hangout with another gringa.

Welcome to reality!

2008-06-15T22:44:00.001-05:00

You mean I have to make my own breakfast?!

2008-06-15T22:31:00.008-05:00

Breakfast in the do-it-yourself, all-inclusive reality of the mamasota rubia!

Welcome home mamita, 'er I mean mom!

The essential post-Dominican Republic vacation anti-depressant survival kit

2008-06-15T22:23:00.004-05:00

Ron blanco y anejo, cafe, dulce de leche, bachata, merengue and salsa. Whenever I leave those CDs laying around my desk at work, I have to explain the marketing principles used by the teenage entrepreneurs, some of whom are former shoeshine boys who sell downloaded music to me on the Malecon of Puerto Plata. "No, she is not the singer..."

Living in the Dominican Republic

2008-06-15T22:00:00.003-05:00

You know you've lived in the Dominican Republic when...

1. You use words like vaina, chin, and jevi as a part of essential vocabulary, and don't care if other people don't know what you're talking about.
2. you've been waken up by the aguacate man.
3. you fear the dreaded news "se fue la luz..."
4. ...because you've showered with a bucket when there's no water.
5. you love the bandera. and pica pollo.
6. Brugal and Presidente did, do and will always make you happy.
7. You befriended or were friends with people who befriended street kids, street people, or schitzo street crazies.
8. e' pa' adelante que vamo'!
9. mofongo mix makes your mouth water.
10. you've contracted some sort of amoeba or parasite.
11. the sight of a white belt makes you snicker.
12. you still find yourself checking your outfit and accessories to make sure you match, down to the color of your earrings.
13. you are familiar with the term "sankipanki" and have either done it or had it done to you.
14. you loved having an inversor, or wish you had one.
15. you don't think it's unnatural to sing while traveling on public transportation, and think its weird when buses don't have the radio on full blast.
16. you know at least the basics of merengue and bachata and can burst into song of many random merengue, bachata, salsa, and reggaeton hits.
17. entonce mamita a que tu quiere
18. you know what a carro publico means and fondly remember being squished between a fat women, her groceries, and a skeevy little dominican man in the backseat.
18. in spanish, you refer to "the bus" as the guagua.
19. if you're a girl, you remember mentally prepping yourself before leaving the house to prepare for a barrage of piropos.
20... piropos have made you either extremely uncomfortable, oddly pleased with yourself, or made you burst out laughing.
21. you classify yourself as: rubio/a (even if you're not blonde), india, morena, or one of those crazy inbetween tones because dominicans just love to define race, but never, ever call themselves negros.
22. you've rode in the back of a pickup truck.
23. you've driven or been driven on the malecon in the middle of the night or coming home at 6am.
24. the colmado is the center of the universe and you desperately miss being able to get dulce de leche and limon chips and presidente at any hour.
25. you love the MOTOCONCHO.
26.you have spent a good part of your dominican social life seated in a plastic chair on the street.
27. you could always say, "i'm out of minutes" if you didn't want to call back one of your dominican stalkers. but you could always go to the colmado for a new tarjeta to call your papi.
28. you've used the "viper" method to communicate.
29. you miss the yelling cobradores on bolivar and independencia, especially the boca chica guy.
30. BON!
31. you've eaten, and enjoy, chivo. mmm.
32. your spanish lacks "s" in many words.
33. you've had first hand experiences with cucarachas, ratas and tarantulas.
34. 'ta full y ta' bueno/a make sense especially when talking about a good club or a hot guy.
35. don't be a mamaguevo. but if you're lucky you'll get a mamasota.
36. you have heard someone yell, "es un abuso!!"
37. duarte, sanchez, mella, 27 de febrero= la patria, and streets in every major city and town. george washington, abraham lincoln, winston churchill. also streets, not la patria.
38. boca chica, and other such beaches mean: pescao, platano frito, jonnycake, and cueros x 1000 with fat gringos.
39. you know and LOVE festival presidente.
40. maceta papi maceta
41. necio, nitido. chevere, chulo. concho, cono, conchole. all necessary words to communicate with a dominican.
42. you got pushed out of the way by 30 people trying to get on the guagua, but once you're on, people will hold your binder, chicken, or baby if you have to stand up and they're sitting down.
43. "vamo a hacer coro" does not mean we're going to make a choir but actually probably involves drinking and travesuras.
44. you've gone out on the street to drink with everyone in your neighborhood during an apagon, because there's nothing else to do.
45. no te quilles mami! = no estes encojonada = don't be balled = don't be mad
46. papanicolao!
47. traffic laws are purely optional, and honking at intersections at night is much more common that stopping at lights.
48. mangu: the staple of the dominican diet, for breakfast, lunch or dinner, with cheese or meat or onions on top. mmm.
49. batido de mango, lechosa, or pina. as good as sex? probably.
50. you've eaten so many platanos you practically have turned into one.

... what about going around town shamelessly wearing rollos in your hair and carrying a shower cap in your purse just in case it rains? Or better yet knowing how to turn a bread bag into a shower cap!!

Pacifika - Me caie

2008-05-20T06:09:00.002-05:00

Colombians?
No mi amor, from Vancouver, British Colombia.

The science of love...

2008-05-03T18:42:00.001-05:00

Hector Ruiz - The power to connect the world

2008-05-03T06:42:00.002-05:00

Pangea Day, May 10

2008-05-02T06:50:00.001-05:00

Leading film-makers are seeking to change the way we think about other countries. This is one of a powerful series of films to be shown on Pangea Day, May 10, "the day the world comes together through film".

See all six anthems. Then visit http://www.pangeaday.org and register your screening for May 10. It's time to imagine a different world.

Start wearing purple for me now!

2008-04-29T21:46:00.001-05:00

Purple Rain

2008-04-29T21:26:00.000-05:00

My garden's wearing purple

2008-04-29T21:13:00.006-05:00

Violet Osteospermum

Matthiola incana (Hot Cakes Pourpre)

Poetry of Alfred, Lord Tennyson

2008-04-29T20:30:00.005-05:00

A DEDICATION.

Dear, near and true--no truer Time himself
Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life
Shoots to the fall--take this, and pray that he,
Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,
May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,
As one who feels the immeasurable world,
Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
And after Autumn past--if left to pass
His autumn into seeming-leafless days--
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.*

*The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europaeus).

Source: Everypoet.com

Pansy - love-in-idleness

2008-04-29T20:17:00.003-05:00

In William Shakespeare's play A Midsummer Night's Dream, the juice of a pansy blossom ("before, milk-white, now purple with love's wound, and maidens call it love-in-idleness") is a love potion: "the juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, will make or man or woman madly dote upon the next live creature that it sees." (Act II, Scene I see also: Oberon at II, i).

Wikipedia

Saxafraga

2008-04-29T20:10:00.003-05:00

For 15 years, my perennial Siberian saxafraga is one of the first to appear after the snow melts.

Sakura

2008-04-29T20:07:00.000-05:00

If there were no cherry blossoms in the world,
My mind would be peaceful.

~ Fujiwara Norihira

Cherry blossom time is here!

2008-04-29T19:59:00.002-05:00

Finally the snow is gone and spring is here! My cherry trees are in bloom and there is hope in the air.

L'otra dia l'amanencer con mambo nuevo!

2008-03-14T17:54:00.002-05:00

Omega y su mambo violento - Si no me amas

Inspiring women - Enjoy!

2008-03-08T19:27:00.004-06:00

Here are some wonderful talks from a few remarkable women to celebrate International Women's day.

For passion and heart .. Isabel Allende
TED | Talks | Isabel Allende: Tales of passion (video)

For rethinking poverty .. Jacqueline Novogratz
TED | Talks | Jacqueline Novogratz: Investing in Africa's own solutions (video)

For simple, lifesaving design .. Amy Smith
TED | Speakers | Amy Smith

For her vast scientific journey that became a passionate ecological tour de force .. Jane Goodall - TED | Talks | Jane Goodall: What separates us from the apes? (video)

For planting trees .. Wangari Muta Maathai
Wangari Maathai Biography

With thanks to Chris for sharing her post on DR1!

Love lost

2008-03-08T15:09:00.004-06:00

60 miles east... me voy!

2008-03-03T16:20:00.002-06:00

This is a very emotional and stirring trailer for a new film on a voyage from the Dominican Republic to Puerto Rico. It's great to hear a new voice telling a story that must be told. I can't wait to see it.

60 Miles East By Jorge Lendeborg

Water, beautiful water!

2008-02-23T20:25:00.006-06:00

I dreamt of going to the beach but never seeing the water.
Hmmm, things happen for a reason.

Snow, snow, beautiful snow

2008-02-07T21:31:00.000-06:00

It's over! Oh my back and it's not even cleared yet!

Gabriel Garcia Marquez on women

2008-02-07T09:34:00.000-06:00

Waiting for my toes to defrost...

2008-02-06T19:44:00.000-06:00

For those of you who have romantic notions about Winter,
feast your eyes on this!

I ask you, how much longer will I have to wait
for my next ex-husband show up
park himself on the sofa with a beer,
put down the remote and pick up a shovel?

Until hell freezes over...

For friends and lovers

2008-02-02T13:18:00.000-06:00

I was sorting through papers and found this poem my mother kept. There were watermarks on it; some of text was obliterated and she retraced the type of some words with a pen. It obviously meant so much to her to keep it for so many years.

My father and mother married in 1940. She had dated him on the rebound from the first big heartbreak of her life a boy who married another girl. My father made her laugh and made her forget. As the son of a florist, he made sure she always had the most beautiful flowers and corsages. They soon married and my father enlisted shortly after in the 1st Canadian Paratroop Battalion at the start of the Second World War.

He had to leave her and train Manitoba, USA and Great Britain. She became pregnant on leave and my eldest brother was born while my mother waited for her husband to return. He told her that when it was time to enter the war, he would let her know where he was going. If he would go to Italy, he would send white roses and if France he would send red roses. One day she received a dozen red roses.

On D-Day minus one, my father parachuted over France on a mission to destroy a bridge. After 3 years of training in three different countries, they dropped him in the wrong place behind occupied territory. He was Missing in Action for 21 days and finally he appeared on a list of detainees in Leipzeig, Germany. Eleven months later he returned ending the first long separation from my mother.

They lived a rich wonderful life together, with many ups and downs. But through it all they forged a love and friendship that I've yet to experience myself. My father said that there was never a dull moment with my mother. As long as I can remember, my parents would hold hands walking and driving in the car. She would see everything and through her observation he would take in the detail of things he would likely overlook on his own. They were so great together. I miss them.

My father died at 62, when she was 58 years old and she never remarried or even dated. She lived the last 24 years of her life without the hand that clasped her own - her life companion, lover, and friend.

This is the poem she saved and I've kept since her death in 1997. It's bittersweet. I hope you appreciate it and that we all experience a love like this one.

You and I

My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear;
My ear is tired waiting for your call.
I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;
Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all.
I droop without your full, frank sympathy;
We ought to be together - you and I;
We want each other so, to comprehend
The dream, the hope, things planned, or seen, or wrought.
Companion, comforter and guide and friend,
As much as love asks love, does thought ask thought.
Life is so short, so fast the lone hours fly,
We ought to be together, you and I.

~Henry Alford

It's here...

2008-01-01T20:09:00.000-06:00

It's cold...

2008-01-01T20:06:00.000-06:00

It's definately winter...

2008-01-01T19:45:00.000-06:00

Winter

2008-01-01T19:44:00.000-06:00

Wishing you love in 2008!

2007-12-31T13:42:00.000-06:00

Zahra - the picture remains

2007-11-28T18:09:00.000-06:00

Today I read about the woman who I named my blog after -- Zahra Kazemi the Iranian-Canadian who was raped, tortured and murdered by the Iranian police after her arrest taking photographs outside the notorious Evin prison the site of student protests. The case apparently has been reopened by the Iranian government for further investigation.

At the same time, I am awaiting the safe return of my Iranian-Canadian daughter after a disturbing incident where she was stopped and questioned by Iranian police in a shopping mall. Apparently they thought her monteau (coat) and rosarie (head scarf) part of the hijab for women were not in keeping with the laws governing the dress of women. They gave her a lecture on one incident in France where a Muslim student was discriminated against for wearing her hijab, as if she as a foreigner represented all foreigners every where and must be held accountable for their actions. It just so happens that my daughter has Iranian documents, passport and is a citizenship in both Canada and Iran. Under the eyes of the Iranian government she is an Iranian and in the eyes of the Iranian police she visibly is a foreigner and in the eyes of some -- immoral.

So it was great happiness that I heard my daughter would return home to Canada where she can be both Canadian and Iranian. But it is with great sadness that I remember Zahra and her son who is until this day is waiting for the return of his mother's remains to Canada, where she made her home and presented her photographic journalism on Iran.

Zahra, as the Persian poem says:

I made a house inside my heart and hung your picture on the wall.
The house was destroyed.
But the picture remains.

November 23rd, I bought nothing!

2007-11-24T10:09:00.000-06:00

I've always joked about my love of shopping. And of course I've read the "Shoppaholic takes Manhattan" the "Shoppaholic Ties the Knot". These are testaments for the great book that we will one day publish for members of the congregation who will follow in our footsteps. :p

But I love the hunt more than the kill. That prolonged process of searching for the perfect something that will transform me is part of the ritual expression that I perform so magnificently after the payroll deposit hits my bank account around 4 AM every other Thursday.

Raised a Catholic, I love the ritual side of religion more than the myth. It builds community. I can't wait for Christmas, I get to show the people I love exactly how much I love them with the perfect something the embodies my love for them. Mine is syncretic practice combining Catholicism and consumerism, not unlike Santeria and Voodoo. Shopping is part of the performance of my identity as a North American. And I know I'm not alone. Boxing Day is the final act of transcendence. My name is Margaret and I am a shoppaholic.

November 23, however, was exceptional. I made my own coffee and carried it in my branded Starbucks mug on the subway to work made with Starbucks coffee beans (Houseblend) I might add. Instead of the cafeteria or a restaurant, I made my own lunch (avocado, tomatoes, red pepper, hummus, pita bread, grapefruit and apple). I made coffee again in the lunchroom from Fair Trade Colombian beans purchased by Julio from his Colombian importer friend direct from Colombia. It was an act of soldarity in my North American imagination with the people who labour in coffee plantations.

After work, I went shopping at Chapters for books and studied the tables of "What's Hot", "Just released", "Biographies" and I even spied the gift I gave a coworker, a fellow shopper who got married. Colette's gift for '05 was reduced to $8 dollars for the hardcover copy of "Shoppaholic tied the Knot". I wondered if she liked it but she alas she left the company shortly after and that friendship faded in the consumeristic mode that we apply to our relationships.

But yesterday was Friday and payday wouldn''t arrive until the following Thursday. So I bought nothing after two hours hunting. I could have charged it, but I didn't find the perfect something that would express my love for anyone, so I came home empty-handed and untransformed.

Turns out that November 23rd was "Don't Buy a Thing Day"! I was totally unaware of that until today but still somehow I feel satisfied that in some small way I was part of a great collective reform movement of consumers who are breaking away from the cult of shopping.

I love communion, I love ritual, I think I'll try this one.

Crackbook - Have you been poked lately?

2007-11-08T17:53:00.000-06:00

Face it: You're a bully not a friend

When her childhood enemy tried to reconnect on Facebook Shannon McKinnon couldn't help herself - she called her rival fat and blocked her profile

SHANNON MCKINNON

Special to The Globe and Mail

November 8, 2007 at 6:34 AM EST

Oh, the times we had.

She locked me in the bathroom. She cornered me in the cloakroom. She choked me. She told me she was going to kill me. She invited me to a sleepover at her house - then told our class I'd "put the moves on her."

I wanted to kill myself every day of Grade 6.

So imagine my shock when, more than 20 years later, I logged on to Facebook last week and was notified that my former nemesis had requested that we be "friends."

Reconnecting us with ex-lovers, ex-neighbours and that guy we met at the movies 10 years ago, most people's Facebook networks have become a mix of people you know, people you hardly remember and people you barely knew in the first place.

Massive friend lists are the new social economy, and many of us are increasingly fielding friendship requests from ever more tenuous connections.

But some Facebook users are getting a blast from the past they remember all too well - and would rather forget: their childhood tormentor.

Genevieve's Poirer, a London, England, lawyer who grew up in Mississauga, couldn't believe her grade-school bully had the nerve to try to get back in touch with her.

"This is the chick who told me every day that I was a loser. She made fun of my clothes. She made fun of my hair. She spread nasty rumours about me and a boy in our class."

Convinced her former bully was indiscriminately trying to beef up the number of friends in her Facebook network by adding anyone she could think of, Ms. Poirier declined her bully's request.

She says it wasn't a tough decision.

"This person means nothing to me. I didn't feel sanctimonious and I didn't take any pleasure in refusing her request. I honestly don't care."

Others are more forgiving.

Carrie Mudd, a television executive in Toronto, shudders when she recalls her former antagonist.

"I remember once our whole class was standing at the top of a hill in the winter," Ms. Mudd says. "She started screaming at me, and the next thing I knew, everyone started throwing snowballs at my face. They had ice in them.

"She was like a cult leader - no one wanted to talk back to her or get on her bad side."

Yet, when her bully recently asked her to be Facebook friends, Ms. Mudd accepted.

Though her former tormentor didn't say so, Ms. Mudd thinks she may have wanted to relieve her guilt.

"I think secretly people are looking to emotionally whitewash their past," she says.

And just clicking "confirm" can feel like an absolution that you have the power to give.

Tyrone Newhook, a Toronto producer, not only accepted his class bully's friendship request - he says he would even have a drink with the guy.

Although he's sure they have nothing in common, Mr. Newhook says he's not the type to hold a grudge.

"Facebook friends aren't real friends anyway - just people you know," he says.

But warming up to your bully might not be the best idea, says Richard Rosenberg, a computer science professor at the University of British Columbia.

"People on Facebook seem to get some sort of pleasure in having this extended network of connections ... [but] you have to take into account the fact that you really don't know this person at all - and it was not a pleasant relationship when you did."

While he doesn't dismiss the notion that some bullies may be reaching out for forgiveness, he thinks that not responding should be the general rule of thumb.

"These connections can draw out a lot of feelings that are still close to the surface. It can be very destructive - all of a sudden you're 10 years old again."

Still, I checked out my former bully's profile: She still lives in our hometown. She went to hairdressing school there. She'd put on some weight. Her spelling was atrocious.

All I had to do was write a patronizing note wishing her all the best. Or I could give her the Facebook finger by declining her request.

But I couldn't help myself: Instead, I reminded her that we weren't exactly BFF's.

I mentioned the choking, the fear-mongering and the spreading of rumours. Then I signed off by telling her that she may be a great person these days - but I never had the pleasure of knowing that person, did I?

She sent me back a message within the hour. It was riddled with homophobic slurs (and spelling errors).

She said I look like a man. She called me a lezzie. She said that it wasn't her who made my life miserable back then, it was my shame.

That's when I called her fat.

Then I blocked her profile so she wouldn't be able to contact me again.

Within minutes, I received a message from a complete stranger, with the subject line "From (Your Bully)."

She wasn't finished: My husband was the "gay, wimpy type." She's 10 times better looking than me. I should go shove my life up my ass. I'm "a lonely soul" and she knows it and so do I.

She signed off by saying she felt sorry for me.

I bit. I insulted her looks, her intelligence and her education.

I burned every last shred of superiority to the ground, and it felt great for about five minutes. And then it felt like a waste of time. And then I felt like an idiot.

She got back to me. She said more of the same. This time I didn't reply.

I haven't heard anything since.

Aguanile - Marc Anthony

2007-10-29T22:05:00.000-05:00

I haven't seen the film yet but I'm addicted to all things salsa, so it on my "to-do" list. Here's the magnificent Marc Anthony performing Aguanile.

Padre Luis Quinn, a man who made a difference!

2007-10-26T22:19:00.000-05:00

He had a big impact on the lives of both Canadians and Dominicans. His final words on his death bed were:
"I have to live, I love my people."

Ivana, Heather and Shirin

2007-10-26T08:33:00.000-05:00

I remember my elegant Montreal born and bred mother Audrey who used to have tea parties with her girlfriends where we lived on Port Robinson road in rural Ontario. Ladies in their Sunday dress, with her fine China tea cups, silver spoons, linen napkins, petit-fours, and shortbread cookies... out in the middle of nowhere but in the middle of somewhere great -- with friends.

Reaching out

2007-10-26T08:22:00.001-05:00

Did you ever reach out for something or someone and find they weren't there?

Jully Black - Seven Day Fool

2007-10-21T19:00:00.000-05:00

Do I look like a seven day fool? Been there, done that. No thanks!

Jully Black Web Site
Jully Black - myspace

North American Dream - Nathan Wiley

2007-10-14T10:06:00.000-05:00

Everyday should be a day to give thanks!

2007-10-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

Today was Thanksgiving in Canada a tradition that began with the explorer Martin Frobisher who set out to find the Northwest passage to the Orient and found himself in the area of our newest territory Nunavut. There in the harsh environment inhabited by the Inuit people, he established a settlement of Europeans in 1578 (Frobisher Bay now known as the capital of Iqaluit) and began the tradition of welcoming new arrivals into that dark Northern land on the first Monday of October.

Today, I'm thankful that I live in Toronto and that I have an abundance from the harvest to welcome my Cuban friend Marcos who arrived to Canada 20 years ago and his son Marcos Jr. for Thanksgiving dinner. In the month of October in Iqaluit, there are only 52 hours of sunlight (see for yourself). Whereas today in Toronto we enjoyed a wonderful Indian summer day at 31C. In fact, I had turn on the air conditioning as I cooked my not so traditional turkey dinner: turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, vegetarian loaf, Persian rice, Chilean salad, Majorcan tumbet (tomatoes, red pepper, aubergine casserole) and finally a turkey soup. (Here's the secret to a juicier bird, cook it breast side down.) It interesting how my culinary skills become more diverse with the men who have found themselves on my shores. Today I give thanks for my own determination to find the Northwest passage. So far, my life has been a cornucopia of newcomers. Gracias a la vida! I've learnt a lot through this experience of other cultures and this route made my live richer. For this, I also give thanks.

Didn't your mother tell you to look both ways before you cross the street?

2007-10-04T22:03:00.001-05:00

Today was really stressful. First of all, at work everyone wanted everything right away and interupted everyone to get whatever they wanted immediately. And then of course they'd return shortly after with another minor revision. A typical day, really, in the Communication's department.

On top of that, my daughter, who was at home sick with a cold, made some comment that really upset me when I called to ask her how she was. It was regarding my financial support for her. She had her facts wrong because I had kept her in the dark about some matter regarding her father, so that I could preserve their relationship. He came out a hero and it was so unfair. I cried, I was even angry with her but I had to stiffle it all in my Dilbert cubicle so the others wouldn't hear me. On my coffee break I called her from outside and we discussed everything and repaired our relationship. Out little tiffs don't last very long, less than one hour, no more. It's too important to let the damage from words fester and create a wound. We usually end our phone conversations and our disagreements with "I love you." That's the way I like it. That's the way we both like it. Never to lose sight of that important fact, inspite of our differences.

Then on top that stress, I had this little incident at the end of the day where I managed to stop one young man from walking into an oncoming car as he started to run behind a bus to cross the street. I grabbed his arm and stopped him. My heart was racing, I overreacted of course, the car wasn't even close enough to be a real threat but I saw it coming and he didn't. I'm hypervigilent about crossing the street. In fact I have a phobia.

My brother was hit by a car at age 31 and he's been permanently disabled since that accident after surviving a traumatic head injury. Since that time, I've always been nervous about crossing streets. Once the light turns yellow I start to speed up to get to the other side. And now we have those damn lights that countdown, I practically race to the other side like I'm crossing a finish line!

That fear I developed from my brother's unfortunate accident was further compounded this summer when I witnessed a woman as she was hit by a streetcar. She wasn't looking both ways and I saw her walk right into the "Red Rocket" on Queen's Quay. She went down like rag doll. No, she went down like a marionette whose strings were snipped in the middle of some bizarre sideshow. Oh! what a nightmare as we witnessed it all, called 911 and waited for the ambulance and to make a police report.

I should also mention how I was also in a little accident. While ccommuting to work one day on my bike, a taxi pulled in front of me making me fall in the middle traffic at Yonge and Bloor - the busiest intersection in Toronto. I was in shock and told the taxi driver I fell because I didn't want to hit his car! I just limped the last block to work with blood running down my legs. My legs were black and blue for months. I got back on the bike a couple weeks later, thinking that when you fall off a horse you should just get back on and ride. But it doesn't work that way with bikes in rush hour commutes. After a couple white knuckle rides, I decided that it was too risky.

1. I can't really afford to go on short or longterm disability, it wouldn't be financially sound since they only cover 80% of your lost wages.
2. My daughter would get bored taking care of me as the novelty would quickly wear off in a couple days.
3. My daugher needs ME to take care of HER. Who would make her meals? Who would scratch her back? Who would... oh never mind. So I take the bus and subway to work now. Or taxis, or I get men to drive me ala "Driving Miss Daisy"!

Any way, with this phobia, I often think about getting hit by cars when I'm crossing the street. So does my daughter for that matter. This is probabbly because when she was little, I would squeeze the shit out of her tiny lttle hand as we ran across streets together.

Well today it was all worth it, good thing I never went for the therapy I sorely needed! I saved someone. A young man of 20 years of age or so, with a life ahead of himself and many more roads to cross. After I grabbed his arm and stopped him, he said, "Thanks for looking out for me! I really appreciate it." What a sweet boy! I think I asaved him!? Or maybe my phobia is just getting worse and I'm starting to drag innocent strangers into it.

For the skeptic

2007-09-29T20:11:00.000-05:00

My style

2007-09-29T20:01:00.000-05:00

I have a confession. Do you?

2007-09-29T18:56:00.001-05:00

Have you ever lied to a someone you loved.
Have you ever cheated on your lover.
Have you ever loved someone you shouldn't have.
Have you ever:
betrayed someone you loved.
tricked someone
seduced them into believing you loved them.

Do you have a confession?
Spill the beans! Make your confession here.

Ken Danby the realist painter died in Algonquin Park last Sunday

2007-09-25T15:34:00.000-05:00

Geez, I'm starting to sound like my mother!

I have to confess I've always read the obituaries. I think it's a small town thing to do - to read the Births, Deaths, Marriages and In Memoriams. So I have to tell you that Ken Danby one of our great painters died in Algonquin Park canoeing on Sunday. In Algonquin, just as Tom Thomson one of the Group of Seven did. Although Thomson was murdered and Danby died of a heart failure; they both loved Algonquin and canoeing, as I do. I've always said that when I die I want to have my ashes thrown overboard from a canoe in Algonquin Park where I spent many happy weeks and weekends -- camping, hiking and canoeing. Making coffee on a Coleman stove, roasting marshmallows, swatting mosquitoes, lying frozen with fear in a tent in the midst of a lightening and thunderstorm, skinny dipping in Joe Lake. It's funny how death and dying are such preoccupations for me when I should be living my life now. But it IS short and I just want to take this opportunity to remind you of that fact. So let's have drink tonight, in memory of an artist who loved the wilderness and the faces and places of Canada. Let's get out this weekend and enjoy the natural beauty that surrounds us. Where ever we are.

Algonquin (in homage to Tom Thomson)

Here is what Danby had to say about his painting:

Growing up in Northern Ontario provided me with a strong affinity for the natural environment that was so eloquently responded to by Tom Thomson and his colleagues. As a teenager I'd go off into the bush, set up my easel and canvas and try to imitate their work. (I recall that in my naivety, I didn't anticipate the foolishness of trying to paint a large canvas and then carry it, still wet, through dense bush, with branches scratching both it and me and a plague of black flies in my face.)

The concept for this painting grew out of a number of forays into Algonquin over the years. Friends of ours, Kim and Marilyn Smith, own and operate 'Camp Tanamakoon' on Cache Lake (which is almost 'next door' to Canoe Lake, where Thomson died). They kindly assisted me with my need to explore my ideas from out on the lake and provided their expert canoeist to pose repeatedly for me. Kim's also an authority on Thomson and pointed out to me that his canoe was painted a gun-metal blue.

From its conception, I intended 'Algonquin' to be a subtle tribute to Tom Thomson. But I also wanted it to be a response to the natural beauty that so typifies the grandeur of Ontario's first provincial park.

Ken Danby

Here's his site. Ken Danby

I hate Mondays!

2007-09-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

And this is what I did with my Sunday.
Work.... making Web site changes.... waaaaaaaaa!!!

fairdealforourcity.ca

If I can't dance, I don't want your revolution!

2007-09-23T22:42:00.000-05:00

This my daughter! Shirin demanding a fair deal for our city!

Shoes,....Betch!

2007-09-23T01:51:00.000-05:00

From the Trans-Canada Highway to you fellow bloggers

2007-09-21T08:30:00.000-05:00

It's a beautiful sunny day here in Toronto. The first day of autumn. I'm tired and happy after dancing salsa last night. This is a jumpstart to the weekend for me. I'm going dance some more tonight. But still on such a beautiful day, I shed some tears for a some news that I read about a stranger -- Charlie.

He's someone I never met in my life but someone who lives his life and shares it with all of us -- blogspot bloggers. In the blogosphere, I can read about the lonliness of a young woman far away, the poetry and creative writing of some dynamic young Dominicans, the political rants and ravings of one Chileno who shares my love of Victor Jara, savour the tastes and smells of Santo Domingo, wait patiently for Augusto's arrival, try to deciper Turkish, console a young woman who lost her father. So blogging made my world both smaller and bigger.

Charlie kept a diary of his journey, he died on the open road where he spent his summer. He shared his experience through his blog with you and me and everyone else on this highway. Cheers, fellow bloggers -- Ride, live, laugh, protest, write, rant, make love... Be sure to tell me all about it. :)

------------------------------------

Summer-long dream cycling trip ended in tragedy when he was struck on Trans-Canada highway

Sep 20, 2007 04:30 AM

Catherine Dunphy
Obituary Writer

For a year Charles Prinsep – Charlie to his many friends – had planned it, saved for it and organized it via computer spreadsheet down to the last gram of every item. A summer-long cycling trip, an odyssey. Fly to Vancouver June 1, hit the road to San Diego, then double back to Vancouver and ride – wind at his back – all the way to Toronto by August's end.

In the fall he would go to France, find work and brush up on his language skills so he could study for a master's degree in French at the Sorbonne in urban planning.
Meanwhile, the open road – or rather its shoulder – beckoned. On his blog he called it the double cross (http://thedoublecross.blogspot.com).
Feasting on strawberries purchased roadside and fuelled by hamburgers, Prinsep rode through fog, wind, searing heat, up mountains and under redwoods.
He exulted in the wildflowers and watching sunsets "with a cool and gigantic beer in my hand," but he also endured bee stings, the powerful and dangerous drafts created by huge trucks passing him too closely.

Yet he got off his bike to help an old dog he found walking in circles in the middle of one highway.

In his first three weeks, he rode more than 1,700 kilometres.
He celebrated July 27 – his 23rd birthday – by eating Japanese food and swimming in full cycling gear in Cultus Lake, B.C., a gorgeous bit of the world, he noted, even though he was indignant about paying $22 for a campsite there. Four days later he wrote: "Tomorrow I ride 150 km over Rogers Pass to Golden. It should be a good one."
It was his last posting. On Aug. 3 Prinsep died while riding on the shoulder of the Trans-Canada Highway outside Brooks, Alta. He was struck from behind by a car.
In many ways, that trip was a fusion of everything their son was and believed in, according to his parents.

Val and Caroline Prinsep, who now live in Dubai, raised their two children in Cabbagetown and often cycled the city's bike paths with them. And Thoby, 27, and Charles spent part of every summer with their grandparents in Britain.
A student at Upper Canada College and then at University of Toronto's Victoria College, Charles had worked for the Bank of Nova Scotia in its real estate division for the past year. He rode his bike to work every day, often arriving dripping or snow-covered but always smiling. He had saved $8,000 for this trip.

His mother received his last email the night before he died. "Don't worry, Mom," he'd written. "Everything is going great."
And it had been.

"He was on the home leg with the wind behind him," said his father. "Flying home. He was doing 160 to 180 kilometres a day. He had done all the hard stuff."

1, 2, 3, 4

2007-09-19T20:33:00.001-05:00

Khosroe discovers Shirin bathing in a pool

2007-09-17T10:58:00.000-05:00

The Labors of Farhad... for Shireen, Shereen, Shirin

2007-09-17T10:28:00.000-05:00

On lofty Beysitoun the lingering sun
looks down on ceaseless labors, long begun:
The mountain trembles to the echoing sound
Of falling rocks, that from her sides rebound.
Each day all respite, all repose denied---
No truce, no pause, the thundering strokes are plied;
The mist of night around her summit coils,
But still Farhad, the lover-artist, toils,
And still---the flashes of his axe between---
He sighs to ev'ry wind, "Alas! Shireen!
Alas! Shireen!---my task is well-nigh done,
The goal in view for which I strive alone.
Love grants me powers that Nature might deny;
And, whatsoe'er my doom, the world shall tell,
Thy lover gave to immortality
Her name he loved---so fatally---so well!

A hundred arms were weak one block to move
Of thousands, molded by the hand of Love
Into fantastic shapes and forms of grace,
Which crowd each nook of that majestic place.
The piles give way, the rocky peaks divide,
The stream comes gushing on---a foaming tide!
A mighty work, for ages to remain,
The token of his passion and his pain.
As flows the milky flood from Allah's throne
Rushes the torrent from the yielding stone;
And sculptured there, amazed, stern Khosru stands,
And sees, with frowns, obeyed his harsh commands:
While she, the fair beloved, with being rife,
Awakes the glowing marble into life.
Ah! hapless youth; ah! toil repaid by woe---
A king thy rival and the world thy foe!
Will she wealth, splendor, pomp for thee resign---
And only genius, truth, and passion thine!
Around the pair, lo! groups of courtiers wait,
And slaves and pages crowd in solemn state;
From columns imaged wreaths their garlands throw,
And fretted roofs with stars appear to glow
Fresh leaves and blossoms seem around to spring,
And feathered throngs their loves are murmuring;
The hands of Peris might have wrought those stems,
Where dewdrops hang their fragile diadems;
And strings of pearl and sharp-cut diamonds shine,
New from the wave, or recent from the mine.

"Alas! Shireen!" at every stroke he cries;
At every stroke fresh miracles arise:
"For thee these glories and these wonders all,
For thee I triumph, or for thee I fall;
For thee my life one ceaseless toil has been,
Inspire my soul anew: Alas! Shireen!"

What raven note disturbs his musing mood?
What form comes stealing on his solitude?
Ungentle messenger, whose word of ill
All the warm feelings of his soul can chill!
"Cease, idle youth, to waste thy days," she said,
"By empty hopes a visionary made;
Why in vain toil thy fleeting life consume
To frame a palace?---rather hew a tomb.
Even like sere leaves that autumn winds have shed,
Perish thy labors, for---Shireen is dead!"

He heard the fatal news---no word, no groan;
He spoke not, moved not, stood transfixed to stone.
Then, with a frenzied start, he raised on high
His arms, and wildly tossed them toward the sky;
Far in the wide expanse his axe he flung
And from the precipice at once he sprung.
The rocks, the sculptured caves, the valleys green,
Sent back his dying cry--- "Alas! Shireen!"

~Nizām ad-Dīn Abū Muhammad Ilyās ibn-Yusūf ibn-Zakī ibn-Mu'ayyid

Reference: Charles F. Horne, ed., The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, (New York: Parke, Austin, & Lipscomb, 1917), Vol.VIII: Medieval Persia, pp. 103-107.

To every thing, there is a season

2007-09-16T14:50:00.000-05:00

From the Bible, Ecclesiastes III (King James Version):

3:1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

3:2 A time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3:3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

3:4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

3:5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

3:6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

3:7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

3:8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Pablo Neruda - Oda a la manzana

2007-09-13T15:48:00.001-05:00

Oda a la manzana

A ti, manzana,
quiero
celebrarte
llenándome
con tu nombre
la boca,
comiéndote.

Siempre
eres nueva como nada
o nadie,
siempre
recién caida
del Paraíso:
plena
y pura
mejilla arrebolada
de la aurora!

Qué dificiles
son
comparados
contingo
los
frutos de la
tierra,
las celulares uvas,
los mangos
tenebrosos,
las huesudas
ciruelas, los higos
submarinos:
tú
eres pomada
pura,
pan
fragante,
queso
de la vegetación.

Cuando mordemos
tu redonda
inocencia
volvemos
por un
instante
a ser
también recién creadas
criaturas:
aún tenemos
algo de manzana.

Yo quiero
una abundancia
total, la
multiplicación
de tu familia,
quiero
una ciudad,
una república,
un río
Mississippi
de
manzanas,
y en sus orillas
quiero
ver
a toda
la población
del mundo
unida, reunida,
en el acto
más simple de
la tierra:
mordiendo una manzana.

~Pablo Neruda

Victor Jara - Las Casitas del Barrio Alto

2007-09-10T15:16:00.000-05:00

Mi casa es su casa

2007-09-10T00:22:00.000-05:00

View Larger Map

Pavarotti - No one will sleep

2007-09-08T17:27:00.000-05:00

Nessun dorma

Samson for Shirin

2007-09-03T12:11:00.001-05:00

The secret to peace, cultivate white roses

2007-08-09T10:14:00.000-05:00

Cultivo una rosa blanca

Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazón con que vivo,
Cardo ni oruga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.

I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.

José Martí
1891

Translated by Manuel A. Tellechea

C.I.A. mission

2007-08-07T13:55:00.000-05:00

In the year of the Hawk vs. the Dove... .... the crane rises!

Join operation Peace Crane

Do you want to learn English?

2007-08-04T14:04:00.000-05:00

I have great news. I finished all the requirements for my teaching certificate (TESOL)! After two years of trudging off to class and coming home at 10 PM, reading about theory and methodology, writing critiques, essays until all hours of the night and morning, cramming for exams, I'm done.

Next step, my application for accreditation.

For Shirin

2007-07-08T19:01:00.000-05:00

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all. Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Loss

2007-07-01T08:46:00.000-05:00

It’s true, I have lost.
It's true, I am lost.
But between the two of us,
you have lost more.
Because although I loved you
more than I loved another,
no one will love you,
as much as I loved you.

I on the other hand, I will be found.
Because I can love another,
as much as I loved you.

~Margaret