tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79196487898461224362024-02-07T19:58:52.282-05:00The Sound of the NightObservations, comments, stories from my, some would say, mad life....Máirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17103740780779980942noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-73147431364073941312012-05-08T15:07:00.000-04:002012-05-08T15:14:42.724-04:00Journey on a Magic (Berber) Carpet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I know very little about Berber carpets. Do you? Well, I know a bit more now that I have been in a very rural part of Morocco (referred to as the 'Bled') and spent a day with an amazing Berber family, related to our family friend, Mohammed. Mohammed has been a friend for 7 years and my sister, Luarena, has been up to his country family before, about 4 years ago. Then, they had no electricity or running water.</div>
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They got electricity about a year ago and, of course, the first thing they did was buy a television! The running water is still not there but they have a lovely well with fresh water. They also cook on open fires and made us some delicious pancakes served up with honey and butter. </div>
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The drive up was long and arduous. We stopped along the way for lunch in a small, clean cafe and then headed up higher and higher, round twisting and turning bends with long drops on one side. It was beautiful but you wouldn't want to be afraid of heights. Along the way, we saw more and more Argane trees, which produce the wonderful, health giving Argane Oil, now becoming more widely known outside of Morocco. On several occasions, we saw goats in the Argane trees, munching on the spiny branches. They also use the tree as shade in the hot afternoon.</div>
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As we approached the destination, we came across one of Mohammed's relations, Yusuf, who was there with a horse and cart to take us further. We were running really late so we decided to carry on driving. Later on, we realised it would probably have been faster in the horse and cart, in the river and then through the fields.</div>
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The road got narrower and narrower. The walls closed in. Those walls looked like the ones you see in the west of Ireland only of lighter stone. They criss-crossed the landscape and, in fields which were clearly meant for farming and planting, you could see hundreds of those rocks dotted about. I wondered aloud that it made sense that they still dug the fields with a cow and old fashioned plough as a modern machine would be broken up in no time. Here and there were what looked like small cairns of rocks and Mohammed told us these marked the boundaries within the fields of various families' crops.</div>
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Driving through the narrow lane, I thought for sure the car would not make it but Moroccan drivers are nothing if not intrepid. Eventually, we were driving through a field, twisting and turning to avoid those rocks and we made it to the compound of this wonderful family.</div>
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The welcome was like nothing I've ever experienced before. Because Luarena had been there before, she was welcomed like a long lost relative and because we were her sisters, we were welcomed the same way. In Morocco, when you are a friend or family member who is not seen often, they kiss you countless times on each cheek. When I say countless, I mean just that - between 20 and 50 kisses on each cheek! Between all the mothers, daughters and grandmothers, we were practically kissed to death. It was so warm and welcoming you couldn't help feel like you were now an honorary family member.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Arkia, 88, on the left.</td></tr>
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The matriarch of them all is Arkia, who is 88 and Mohammed's aunt. Mohammed's father and Arkia are siblings and come from a family where their father had four wives so there were something like 29 children! Arkia still cooks, works on the farm, weaves and does all the things that the other, much younger, women do there. </div>
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They served us up a chicken couscous, made with polenta and the soured milk which they love but we all found a bit hard to deal with. We ate our fill and then talked with them all about their lives and they showed us around the adjoining houses and outbuildings. </div>
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More and more people arrived, more kissing and welcomes. We were shown the new foal, the new calf, the goat pen with thorny branches from the Argane trees on top of the walls to keep both predators out and the goats in. We were shown the hens, cockerels and the baby chicks and were given at least a dozen eggs when we left, safely stowed in a big bag of cornmeal. We thought perhaps they thought we'd never seen animals before as we ooh-ed an aah-ed on each new revelation and took photos of everything.</div>
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We showed them photos of Ireland and they were as fascinated with them as we were with their lives. Then tea and pancakes were served, having been made by the new mother with her small baby, Farid, strapped on her back, squatting in front of the open fire.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0J9Vip18JSt1pOMB0ZLgfPVAQYe40YGSHUBQ_yfZdWvbcBuVS-LU71l-Yn6Ja1x0nDzNE9Zu00gGYPQC7SgKrwW0941oUXF0wgZu9H3yKuvBvdShLUMh5zgMfJRDXSvgPwTYisv0ElcY/s1600/2012-04-27+17.51.01+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0J9Vip18JSt1pOMB0ZLgfPVAQYe40YGSHUBQ_yfZdWvbcBuVS-LU71l-Yn6Ja1x0nDzNE9Zu00gGYPQC7SgKrwW0941oUXF0wgZu9H3yKuvBvdShLUMh5zgMfJRDXSvgPwTYisv0ElcY/s320/2012-04-27+17.51.01+-+Copy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TrE0AXJ55lPkaNAmJh08F0cd7qf2L29gwoptPwqfzDlz7zGkLnqyaS68zNUKJth6ZwGJ8A1mhyf04be_TUTbk7EVuDZvucsYGp2z1QoQbF6ux7aiq3vgctk-skf0G9Vt3KVNo5fiRvpV/s1600/2012-05-08+18.16.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Eventually, we brought up the subject of carpets. Jacquie and I wanted a carpet for our living room. We'd been living with a bare floor for months. They showed us new and gaudy things first and then we spotted some old carpets on the floor and indicated our interest. They clearly thought we were crazy and when we offered to pay, they thought we were even crazier and wanted to give them to us. I am glad we insisted on paying for them as the carpets turned out to be far more interesting than we realised at the time. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of Arkia's amazing carpet</td></tr>
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Finally, after picking three rugs that were mostly woven in cottons and between 20 and 50 years old, we found the <i>piece de resistance</i> when we spotted one the matriach, Arkia, had made. It is 10 feet by 5 feet, at least, and of the most amazing colours and design. It's almost Navajo in colour and pattern. It's made of wool and at least 60 years old. Turns out to be worth between €800 - €1000!! The others are not so valuable but are lovely, with intricate patterns and designs. I bought one for my bedroom that is made with tassles from old clothes all over in a colourful pattern.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close of of the rag rug made from old clothes</td></tr>
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We eventually left as it was getting dark and it was starting to rain. As we made our way back down the precarious mountains in the pitch dark, the heavens opened in torrents. Proper tropical rain. Luckily, they have painted the roads properly so we could see, just about, the middle and the edges. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole rug.</td></tr>
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On our way to the car in Essaouira we got completely drenched and drove home soaked to the skin. Walking back to our house in Taghazout at 2am, we got drenched again and had to take hot showers when we got in to warm back up. Most unusual weather for that time of year. It made the trip all the more adventurous.</div>
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It was, without doubt, the highlight of my visit to Morocco and a great ending to what had been <a href="http://thesoundofthenight.blogspot.com/2012/05/divorce-fever-in-morocco.html" target="_blank">an awful start. </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">If you're interested to know more about Berber rugs, here is a great website with lots of information on the tribes and areas and the various styles: <a href="http://riadzany.blogspot.com/p/beginners-guide-to-moroccan-carpets.html" target="_blank">The View From Fez</a>. We're planning another trip over to buy more carpets and perhaps sell them over here. If you're interested, let me know.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TrE0AXJ55lPkaNAmJh08F0cd7qf2L29gwoptPwqfzDlz7zGkLnqyaS68zNUKJth6ZwGJ8A1mhyf04be_TUTbk7EVuDZvucsYGp2z1QoQbF6ux7aiq3vgctk-skf0G9Vt3KVNo5fiRvpV/s1600/2012-05-08+18.16.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TrE0AXJ55lPkaNAmJh08F0cd7qf2L29gwoptPwqfzDlz7zGkLnqyaS68zNUKJth6ZwGJ8A1mhyf04be_TUTbk7EVuDZvucsYGp2z1QoQbF6ux7aiq3vgctk-skf0G9Vt3KVNo5fiRvpV/s320/2012-05-08+18.16.56.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the cotton antique carpets</td></tr>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-62626916761281527382012-04-11T13:11:00.001-04:002012-04-12T10:52:32.073-04:00All The Celts in Carlow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG2iiA-HYtxPThXP_p4S7SF-FMUHPAtDcCvVSZStjg1-XNVpth0fCmTBjMYSI2jQF9gme2Js3-TBmuQ9Ic2SloHRDAuHI9RcsCzuebGpLB6EaQZ64LZ6qiOwtZvRNIMfnExlyH5uKuqH2/s1600/banner6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG2iiA-HYtxPThXP_p4S7SF-FMUHPAtDcCvVSZStjg1-XNVpth0fCmTBjMYSI2jQF9gme2Js3-TBmuQ9Ic2SloHRDAuHI9RcsCzuebGpLB6EaQZ64LZ6qiOwtZvRNIMfnExlyH5uKuqH2/s400/banner6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Last night saw the opening of the <a href="http://www.panceltic.ie/">Pan Celtic Festival</a> in Carlow, Ireland. It's the first time Carlow has hosted this event, which has been going for 41 years already.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The opening was held at <a href="http://www.visualcarlow.ie/gallery-home.php" target="_blank">The VISUAL</a>, our fabulous Arts Centre here in Carlow where my sister, Jacquie, and I volunteer when we can. For me, discovering the VISUAL has been a source of endless joy and excitement. We've been to plays, movies and spent hours poring over the marvelous exhibition on there at the moment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When we arrived for the volunteer briefing last night, we didn't realise that the President of Ireland, <a href="http://www.president.ie/index.php?section=20&lang=eng" target="_blank">Michael D. Higgins</a>, would be opening it so we were really thrilled to know he'd be there as he's a great supporter of the arts and a proponent of the Irish language. Indeed, we heard all the Celtic languages spoken there last night.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The President flashes past me!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our job was to make sure things went smoothly once the crowds started to arrive, partly because the President was coming and partly because of the art work in the main gallery. There were large screens erected around the building so that people who did not have tickets to the main opening event in the George Bernard Shaw Theatre (also in the VISUAL building), could see the events unfold. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The show started outside with dancers from Ireland and Brittany as well as a group of musicians form the Isle of Man and some pipers mixed in for good measure. We had to man our posts so weren't able to see all that much but we could tell people were having a great time and we were really grateful that the rain held off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was called away from the Gallery to keep the crowds in order when the President arrived. This was only for security reasons and it was a thousand times more relaxed than if the President of the USA arrived! The President arrived to huge applause and cheering and spent time greeting all the dignitaries of Carlow and then headed to the theatre with his wife and Bríde de Róiste, the unflappable and wonderful organiser of the whole event. The people behind me were thrilled to have got great photos of the President and to be able to say they'd been only feet from him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I got back to the Gallery, I saw that about 10 people were sitting on one of the big stone artworks and I had to, unfortunately, tell them they couldn't sit there as it might collapse and do them an injury. There were people from all over milling about and by far the most beautiful were the dancers from Brittany in their demure laces caps and black velvet, embroidered dresses with gold chains hanging from the front. My phone ran out of battery so I was not able to take photos of some of them twirling about amongst Eileen McDonough's remarkable 'Cathedral' exhibit - giant trees made from papier maché, reaching their arms to the sky. It's my only regret of the night.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Cathedral' by Eileen McDonough</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Carlow will now be the centre of countless sessions of music, story telling, dancing and the Food Festival on the weekend. We're so excited to have been part of this and to see and hear so much talent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It makes me more and more happy that I ended up in Carlow, which seems to be the hub of so much art and culture. How lucky are we?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-58884090428247601532012-04-05T07:50:00.001-04:002012-04-11T12:05:20.318-04:00Real Coffee<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
I didn't really learn about drinking proper coffee until I moved to Sweden when I was 19. Before that, it had either been the white coffee with steamed milk in the small cafe in Bray we went to as teenagers with our boyfriends, pooling our pennies together to get it, or it was instant. </div>
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When I was a child, my mother and father went to Yugoslavia to spend some of my father's writing royalties. They weren't allowed to take the money out of the country so they shopped a lot while they were there. One of the things they brought back was a hand coffee grinder and some traditional Balkan coffee pots. The kind with the wooden handle, they were made of copper which we shone carefully to keep them looking new.</div>
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She would grind up the beans - god knows where she got them in Ireland in the 1960s! - turning the handle for a long time to get the coffee as finely ground as possible. Then she'd spoon the coffee into the waiting pot and fill it with cold water, place it on the stove and we'd wait. Once it started to heat up there were tense moments while I watched the coffee slowly rise to the top lip of the pot. One second too long and it would spill over. I felt both anxious and excited waiting for the perfect moment when Mum would grab the wooden handle, lift it off, satisfied. She stirred it till the grounds went down again and would start the process all over again. Three times she did this and then would let the coffee settle to the bottom after the final stir leaving only the brown froth on the top.</div>
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She poured the coffee - fragrant and rich, a bit like chocolate - into the small cups and topped them with boiled milk. There was a priest called Tom Stack who used to visit her just for the coffee.</div>
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I never tasted it. She left before I was old enough to drink coffee.</div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-52734488951700558842012-02-20T10:27:00.000-05:002012-02-20T10:59:20.662-05:00A Fateful Puppy<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Some people believe they are drawn to a place for a reason,
even though that reason might take some time to show itself. Joel Brokaw, 58, knew the moment he saw the
ranch house in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in California that he was
meant to be there. For him, it was like
a lightning bolt, the message was clear. He had to live there. And, as with these kinds of fateful messages,
the whole move went so smoothly he was there and settled in no time. He had moved from the glitzy clamour of Los
Angeles to this quiet mountain retreat to start a new life as a writer. In the Sierras, huge boulders dropped from
the mountains above as the glaciers of the Ice Age retreated and came to rest
in meadows and on slopes. Up above
Joel’s house were many such boulders, some the size of a small house, others as
small as a pebble.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">One night in late January 2008, around the time of the
Superbowl, Joel and his daughter were hanging out. Joel is not a fan of
American Football so he and his daughter were watching ‘Puppy Bowl’
instead. A pack of puppies are let loose
on a field the size of a football pitch and a webcam captures their every move. For two hours. After watching this, Joel’s daughter said,
‘Oh Dad, let’s get a puppy!’ Seeing as
she was twenty at the time and Joel already had a dog, two cats and two cows he
responded with a no.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">That night they heard sounds coming from up amongst the
boulders and thought it was probably coyote pups. The following night they heard it again. The
next morning it was clear to Joel that what he was hearing now was a serious
distress call so he decided he’d better go and investigate. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">He climbed up through the boulder strewn wilds and eventually
came upon the source of the crying. A small puppy was wedged and unable to move
in a crack in a six foot tall boulder.
People often dumped their unwanted animals in the mountains for someone
to rescue or adopt them or let them either die or fend for themselves. So it was no surprise to Joel to see this
little, brown mite in such a predicament. With some effort, he got the puppy
loose and brought him to the house. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">They warmed him up and fed him but it was clear the puppy was
banged up and somewhat in shock, so Joel headed down the mountain to the local
vet. This vet was someone he’d been to
before but he had never had cause to stay longer than was necessary for an
inoculation or minor check up. This time he had a chance to see the vet, Birte,
in action. The way she cared for this
fragile puppy whose claws had been worn down to nubs from trying to free
himself from the boulder, really struck a chord with Joel. Her tender care and nurture of an animal that
someone else had thought worthless enough to throw out made him look at her
more closely and he saw there a woman of depth and worth. Not to mention that she didn’t charge him for
the treatment and threw in some free puppy food, too! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I think animals which have been traumatized and rescued often
very special. They’re honest and direct
and have a certain look in their eyes’, says Joel. ‘Everyone says that Harvey is a magnificent
dog, a special dog with a great spirit.’ </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> ‘If I were an actor
and needed to cry for a scene all I would have to do is think of going up that
mountain to save a puppy’.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The puppy was named Harvey and became part of Joel’s
household. So too did Birte, the vet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The day Joel had brought Harvey into Birte, the receptionist
at the practice had noticed how he had looked at Birte and, fancying herself as
a matchmaker, suggested Joel get to know her better. Joel needed no prompting
and, not long after, asked Birte if she’d like to go hiking some time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Joel had divorced several years earlier and then spent some
time working on himself and he now felt it would have to be someone really
special if he were to consider a new relationship. After three months of going for hikes
together, romance kindled. It was clear to Joel that Birte was that special
person and a year after their first hike, they moved in together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Four years later, on December 27, 2011, Oliver was born to
Birte and Joel. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">There is no doubt in Joel’s mind that the strong calling he
got to live 230 miles away from Los Angeles, in this fairly remote and
beautiful place, once a sacred spot for native Americans, was so that he would
rescue Harvey and thus meet Birte and become a father again at 58, to
Oliver. </span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0Yosemite National Park, CA 95389, USA37.7705963 -119.510770837.3689588 -120.1424848 38.1722338 -118.8790568tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-60383116185368045192011-07-01T12:26:00.002-04:002011-07-01T12:43:51.840-04:00My Slightly Nippy Dip in the Nip<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>June 25th, 2011 Dunmoran Strand, Sligo, Ireland</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Reflections on being part of <a href="http://dipinthenip.eu/">The Dip in the Nip</a>; baring our bums to save lives.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At 6am I was up, after far too little sleep, in the bathroom of our hotel room, painting flowers on my sister's bum cheeks! She'd already started on her front and covered herself in pink and white paint, making it decorative as she went along. Bleary-eyed, we carried on and later I added stick-on sparklies, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">donated by our friend, Marie,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to my body. Marie looked gorgeous with her tan and sparkles. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBJ5g0NkSvrveF6_frzJTRYHLYtLicJiusykND0Pl-X3IuWi9XBoxnR3rYroHdJ2G6DOKkjRtvzsPuxyIqGWgbwTMZZItboGB3HvYHyQxiUjY-my-l_gd_NmkxD4vgAe0zXGnqclNK2ZQ/s1600/dip+blues.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBJ5g0NkSvrveF6_frzJTRYHLYtLicJiusykND0Pl-X3IuWi9XBoxnR3rYroHdJ2G6DOKkjRtvzsPuxyIqGWgbwTMZZItboGB3HvYHyQxiUjY-my-l_gd_NmkxD4vgAe0zXGnqclNK2ZQ/s320/dip+blues.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We ate a light breakfast at 7am in the lobby of the hotel and then drove the 25 mins to Dunmoran Strand to join all the other Dippers (that's how we've become known since the first Dip in the Nip). Luckily, Marie has a 4-wheel drive so we were able to park on the beach. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OsrWln5vTO8jPeh-r0ZHQqYaYkZfc5ciUuemxOYDNAW_YHQyCCbGMCOubdLSA61UMEjqeD7hf3pIU_OYobnJLdPszY6M_6N7XPnSN9v91IXa9sPH3ViuCndHF6GZusgHF7d1-CA_jKGb/s1600/1309191472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" id=":current_picnik_image" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OsrWln5vTO8jPeh-r0ZHQqYaYkZfc5ciUuemxOYDNAW_YHQyCCbGMCOubdLSA61UMEjqeD7hf3pIU_OYobnJLdPszY6M_6N7XPnSN9v91IXa9sPH3ViuCndHF6GZusgHF7d1-CA_jKGb/s400/1309191472.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Men Get into Tribal Mode Before the Dip</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People were already milling about in their bathrobes, many with pink wigs, ribbons and paint. We met a man, in full blue body paint, called Sebo, who had thrown himself into the cause. A live Irish music band played to us from the car park and then there was the beautiful <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%ADle_Seoige">Sile Seoige</a> wanting to interview the three of us for her radio program later on. She was so sincere and asked great questions. She interviewed us again afterwards to ask us how we felt.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjB0T4LyLIu7yNnAV0u8IjDi9Bf84px9Fzk5Zfuf32HKzeDI5u7m0ewUaFH4McG_BczDjCZuMPvcxJTXV1JIRNhtms6sDPNirAeOip_hUa8k9AWm19lWtf5UAnJVPBorNOuvr-SrPUWrh/s1600/266752_10150381320779498_683799497_9915658_7648877_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" id=":current_picnik_image" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjB0T4LyLIu7yNnAV0u8IjDi9Bf84px9Fzk5Zfuf32HKzeDI5u7m0ewUaFH4McG_BczDjCZuMPvcxJTXV1JIRNhtms6sDPNirAeOip_hUa8k9AWm19lWtf5UAnJVPBorNOuvr-SrPUWrh/s400/266752_10150381320779498_683799497_9915658_7648877_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister and blue man, Sebo, who won Best Pink and Best Blue</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Along the beach, there were three army tents, one for the food and registration, one for the men and one for the women. We were about 100 meters apart so our dignities would be protected at all times.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we moved down to the women's tent, after a short Zumba class and lots of hiliarity, there was a real buzz as we milled about, our bodies covered, knowing we would soon be shedding everything and running into the sea.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The part I haven't mentioned is that is was by no means a warm day, not at all what you would expect in June and we were bundled up pretty well to protect from the chilly wind. The day before, it had poured rain non stop so now we were counting our blessings that it was only overcast and cold.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ty112AZDKZs/TgniStzSMVI/AAAAAAAACBM/s-CWgKuTh7o/s1600/1309191351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ty112AZDKZs/TgniStzSMVI/AAAAAAAACBM/s-CWgKuTh7o/s400/1309191351.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mad dash in</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Suddenly, the moment arrived and, as though in a dream, I dropped my robe,stepped out of my flip-flops and took off down the beach with about 350 women, all yelling and whooping. It all happened so fast that I could barely grasp it. I remember, in the middle of the pack, almost at the water, it struck me how beautiful everyone was. How glorious we were, as creatures, as women, as people who had suffered the slings and arrows of life, some of us with scars from cancer operations, some of us conscious of our size or shape yet all of us exhilarated, excited, high on the moment of liberation that would make a difference to so many people's lives. There was a steady hum as we plunged into the cold Atlantic and shrieks as we dipped ourselves in.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA1gc5V1u7lL3OlfV7v8YJAuKoUoAbGBTNvDqFKO2X7xWsXQVRvpoBaHz1oevoRYhIv_l4uSt2huuQVpM_Ctb1oPpRYdurz7EviVRj_6SZkhuYdkfDbbXdA8swNNel6wyCHXy7m-hGOZb/s1600/1309191768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA1gc5V1u7lL3OlfV7v8YJAuKoUoAbGBTNvDqFKO2X7xWsXQVRvpoBaHz1oevoRYhIv_l4uSt2huuQVpM_Ctb1oPpRYdurz7EviVRj_6SZkhuYdkfDbbXdA8swNNel6wyCHXy7m-hGOZb/s320/1309191768.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maire Garvey and Sile Seoige after the Dip</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sile Seoige said afterwards, on her radio show, that she was struck by how we all ran hell for leather to get to the water, as though it would cover us and protect us, yet, when we came out of the ocean, we sauntered along the beach, not a care in the world, as though our fears and worries had been left behind in the chilly waves.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The camaraderie was infectious. Everyone was on equal terms, our insecurities wiped away the moment we committed to it, to dropping our covers and baring ourselves to each other.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5f7G0Txp5Knuf-J9t3Xv8jSDGANk7UUa5qEq-39ODFG1rPr7btPBNxoeMJ7tWFYysOwgFjWL0QAhuXUDjDkck42OmssP8T7tkWsqhnr_TH_TXkah6CD18fMVG05nObq11O0MLDlz-ATnf/s1600/dip+angels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5f7G0Txp5Knuf-J9t3Xv8jSDGANk7UUa5qEq-39ODFG1rPr7btPBNxoeMJ7tWFYysOwgFjWL0QAhuXUDjDkck42OmssP8T7tkWsqhnr_TH_TXkah6CD18fMVG05nObq11O0MLDlz-ATnf/s400/dip+angels.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute angels </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The fact that we were doing it to raise money for cancer charities and, in particular, head cooling machines for patients undergoing chemotherapy, made it more powerful, more meaningful and mixed the emotions of loss, celebration, joy, exhilaration and courage. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will, from that moment on, always associate healing from cancer with what we did that morning. Collectively, we sent out a huge message that we can do something to help people suffering from cancer and perhaps prevent it too. </span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am still raising money, until July 28th, so please, please help me reach my goal. It will help so many people. </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Here's where you can donate: </span><a href="http://www.mycharity.ie/event/mayas_dip_in_the_nip/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Maya's Dip in the Nip</span></a></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWagXzYi1v4KupEcu6co_Y92Qe20U_D41DzmF-qilKzlllhTQaTEp9lgC9Q9izJg8nXNlBGfE8EQzaHK8tt9p9vKYVQUumqM8vgsR9TswGY54aUpu3YgnKjxzCD7JElxv7RBPD_msO5qh/s1600/dip+men.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWagXzYi1v4KupEcu6co_Y92Qe20U_D41DzmF-qilKzlllhTQaTEp9lgC9Q9izJg8nXNlBGfE8EQzaHK8tt9p9vKYVQUumqM8vgsR9TswGY54aUpu3YgnKjxzCD7JElxv7RBPD_msO5qh/s400/dip+men.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The men rush in</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS DONATED SO FAR. YOUR HELP IS HUGELY APPRECIATED AND WILL GO TO HELPING PEOPLE WITH CANCER AND TO BUYING A SCALP COOLER (OR TWO IF WE RAISE ENOUGH MONEY!) TO HELP PREVENT HAIR LOSS DURING CHEMOTHERAPY. OUR AIM IS TO HAVE A SCALP COOLER IN EVERY HOSPITAL.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>All photos by <a href="http://francesmuldoon.ie/">Frances Muldoon</a> and <a href="http://www.picsell8.com/advanced.html">James Connolly</a> except Blue Man and my sister, which is by me.</i></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-74683380417155178802011-06-10T07:39:00.001-04:002011-06-10T11:58:30.423-04:00The Dip in the Nip<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On Saturday June 25th, my sister Luarena and I will be joining up to 500 other women at a beach in north west Ireland (location disclosed on the day for reasons you'll see below!). It's called <a href="http://dipinthenip.eu/">The Dip in the Nip</a>.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We're running into the sea in our altogethers. As in:</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">NAKED </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">NUDE </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">IN THE NIP</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">IN THE BUFF</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-zC3CSl-xVdEKczbVpCUQLWUBVwalaIgtta7VQJLV_YamdJspTejxkRhS97DtTOFdQv50hgn7ezuU98psVxcQJQ3BFpfii27qmJW_rv4WenAYuNUCEqsSZvFU1y0QmHZRpR1hdVy0BMu/s1600/195056_118997411508108_118995521508297_142245_3952742_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-zC3CSl-xVdEKczbVpCUQLWUBVwalaIgtta7VQJLV_YamdJspTejxkRhS97DtTOFdQv50hgn7ezuU98psVxcQJQ3BFpfii27qmJW_rv4WenAYuNUCEqsSZvFU1y0QmHZRpR1hdVy0BMu/s400/195056_118997411508108_118995521508297_142245_3952742_o.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was all dreamed up by Máire Garvey after she went to see a psychic who told her she saw her in the sea, naked, with loads of other women! An idea was born and now, three years later, she's expecting about 500 women to partake. The money goes to cancer charities in Ireland and this year we are also raising money for head cooling machines which help to prevent hair loss during chemotherapy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">AMAZING</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Even more amazing is that it's actually ILLEGAL to be naked publicly in Ireland but, just to show how stupid that is, the Army and the Gardai (Police) will out be out to protect our dignity and keep prying eyes away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Here's an wonderful video, presented by Terry Wogan, on the BBC.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EtQ8x7wAVCo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Síle Seoige, one of our top TV and radio personalities will be broadcasting her show, <a href="http://www.newstalk.ie/programmes/all/shenanigans-with-sile/">Shenanigans with Síle </a>on Newstalk FM, from the location that day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHqcd981RCO2dLzTx25A8QKA0WpZqt98UfAqGCo48LbzQO_jF69BY8AqYbI3KiAW-wXLviYq-_HkJFWSDUCdEovVTDD4XasUqbZD0Al-B7FZ11d_jUJ-_BKnOFASkV88Z_9HzvOmnvGxS/s1600/189476_185088691532889_155333411175084_418888_512465_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHqcd981RCO2dLzTx25A8QKA0WpZqt98UfAqGCo48LbzQO_jF69BY8AqYbI3KiAW-wXLviYq-_HkJFWSDUCdEovVTDD4XasUqbZD0Al-B7FZ11d_jUJ-_BKnOFASkV88Z_9HzvOmnvGxS/s320/189476_185088691532889_155333411175084_418888_512465_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have asked all my friends, followers on Twitter, family members and my entire mailing list to please donate €1 each to help me raise money for this cause.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's my fundraising page: <a href="http://www.mycharity.ie/event/mayas_dip_in_the_nip/">Maya's Dip in the Nip</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ah, go on, give €1, it's less than the price of a cup of coffee.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A thousand thanks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-33817151939839859992011-05-30T06:19:00.000-04:002011-05-30T06:19:08.550-04:00Emmylou Harris - More Than Just Great Music<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On Saturday last, my birthday, I was lucky enough to go to see <a href="http://www.emmylouharris.com/">Emmylou Harris</a> in concert at the <a href="http://www.grandcanaltheatre.ie/template1.aspx?mid=1">Grand Canal Theatre</a> in Dublin. It was a wonderful experience for many reasons. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fgdjr9wLtVY/TeNtqeA0dkI/AAAAAAAAB_w/oauw1rDlZgg/s1600/opening_581x271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fgdjr9wLtVY/TeNtqeA0dkI/AAAAAAAAB_w/oauw1rDlZgg/s400/opening_581x271.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Number one is that I WON the tickets!! The theatre had a competition on their Facebook page (just goes to show how good <a href="http://www.mayahanley.com/">social media</a> can be!)</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I usually never win things so thought this was amazing!</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Number two is that I got to go with my lovely friend, Anne McCallion. Anne is a dog lover and has three gorgeous Bichon Frises. It turns out Emmylou is also a dog lover and takes her dogs on tour with her in the US and she runs a dog rescue at her home in Nashville called Bonaparte's Retreat. We both thought this was so inspiring.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK6EXWcF92rGXYZL5taKlocAD1Ydfv_HCTVZDpJP2nwysFeHE-hzzvSnLz3wBKQxBNLPg4dBWFJHt5NY9VZbIU8B0BdZjjFDdZIDAqYywBiiU9Hn3klKzK_glkHxK_dfGmO4EsNn0i5Jj/s1600/CIMG2469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK6EXWcF92rGXYZL5taKlocAD1Ydfv_HCTVZDpJP2nwysFeHE-hzzvSnLz3wBKQxBNLPg4dBWFJHt5NY9VZbIU8B0BdZjjFDdZIDAqYywBiiU9Hn3klKzK_glkHxK_dfGmO4EsNn0i5Jj/s320/CIMG2469.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Madison</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Number three is that the Grand Canal theatre is gorgeous and a wonderful addition to the Dublin landscape. It's in a great location, right beside Grand Canal Dock and is part of a big square with restaurants and apartments.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Number four is that we had dinner in <a href="http://www.elywinebar.ie/en/ely-gastro-pub.html">Ely Wine Bar</a> across the square (my birthday present from Anne!) and had a wonderful meal, the best steak I've had in ages. It was great to eat and then walk across the square to the show as well as being able to park underneath the theatre. Finally, convenience for the customers was taken into consideration in a venue in Dublin!</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Number five, the show was amazing. Emmylou has been a favourite of mine since I was 17 and that's going back into the mists of time! She has an extraordinary voice and gets me in the heartstrings every time I hear her. Her band was wonderful and created an enormous sound in the theatre. She played some of my all time favourite songs too, like Together Again, which always makes me cry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMHwKEe_WInc4J8b_lb84tV2dzgFWOCdT7vHCLoCyiXJ0tGHdqRmX-ideRptz00WBTQfCtYcTUPcWZEK216V_AXDfccagVqIMLeBxOyEsZa_FNmGGw6MLm1XkwYC0Qd4y74D67SrMqqcH/s1600/CIMG2467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMHwKEe_WInc4J8b_lb84tV2dzgFWOCdT7vHCLoCyiXJ0tGHdqRmX-ideRptz00WBTQfCtYcTUPcWZEK216V_AXDfccagVqIMLeBxOyEsZa_FNmGGw6MLm1XkwYC0Qd4y74D67SrMqqcH/s320/CIMG2467.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There was only one downside: the audience seemed dead, for the most part. There were pockets of enthusiasm dotted about the auditorium but, for the most part, it seemed like nothing was going to get them going. When I saw Emmylou at the National Stadium 2 years ago, the place was alive with noise and excitement. People shouted comments and requests up to Emmylou on the stage and there was a good bit of banter back and forth. There was riotous response to almost every song and she got three encores a continuous standing ovation at the end. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Not so in The Grand Canal Theatre. I can't understand why only that perhaps the theatre was a more sedate place to be and people felt constrained. I don't know if that was the reason but I was very disappointed in the response. She only got a smattering of people on their feet at the end (Anne and I included) and only one encore. What's up,Dublin? Was the the venue or the act? I can't imagine it was the act and the venue is lovely. I just don't get it.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWKfUKRN59oRcS9l8Nrm_TPGK4nk2IsEKesaFFgBJ6cqRDtNZKY2CyT-r1EFa3_Tth2GXZCoACFjerfeBkSA1necjoKl6UwT5TPXWAYq6ce2duRWlyl40GWUFDoWN-uvw5UI_FMIrwSWP_/s1600/ehbonaparte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWKfUKRN59oRcS9l8Nrm_TPGK4nk2IsEKesaFFgBJ6cqRDtNZKY2CyT-r1EFa3_Tth2GXZCoACFjerfeBkSA1necjoKl6UwT5TPXWAYq6ce2duRWlyl40GWUFDoWN-uvw5UI_FMIrwSWP_/s320/ehbonaparte.jpg" width="320" /></a>Another thing that came out of the evening for me was that Emmylou is looking for help to support the dog rescue centre, Bonaparte's Retreat and has joined forces with another group in Nashville who help get homeless people off the street. The idea is to get the people who've been rescued to take care of the rescue dogs! What a great idea. If you want to help out, contact them on their Facebook page here: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bonapartes-Retreat/239146038137">Bonaparte's Retreat</a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-62036542675076555482011-04-15T07:50:00.001-04:002021-10-02T05:43:42.564-04:00<h1 class="entry-title">Transported by Food: A Brief Culinary Journey in Andalucía</h1><div class="entry-meta"> <span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author">Posted on</span> <a href="https://www.tripping.com/blog/blog/2011/01/28/transported-by-food-a-brief-culinary-journey-in-andalucia/" rel="bookmark" title="8:00 pm"><span class="entry-date">January 28, 2011</span></a> <span class="meta-sep">by</span> <span class="author vcard"><a class="url fn n" href="https://www.tripping.com/blog/blog/author/tripping/" title="View all posts by Tripping">Tripping</a></span> </div><div class="entry-content"> <em>This is another delicious guest post from <a href="https://www.tripping.com/profile/info/index/memberid/14249">Maya Hanley</a>. She has recently returned from a tumultuous Spanish journey. See how she made it through with the help the local cuisine. </em><br />
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Our Christmas was off to an icy start with unexpected arctic weather and closed airports. Needless to say we were delayed in our arrival at Albuñuelas, only to find that the house we had rented was cold, damp and unliveable. Despite the late start (and later, my sister’s broken foot which ended the trip prematurely) we are very grateful for the new friendship we forged with the wonderful couple who rescued us, put us up and <em>fed</em> us.<br />
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David Crockett and his lovely wife Lorna own a B&B, a beautifully converted house in the middle of the village of Albuñuelas (phone: +34 6 3604 3596). David is an avid cook and thrilled us with his culinary delights, like paella with pork and spinach and Moroccan fish tajine. Oh, and lots of local wines!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-UT_8YaP0gTi3sk8wIG6OtNHwlGlk5waQQs4UyZLPWI5SUxb0uQDgXR4041zsprMd7b1VP_4eDYAM_Y5UWHb6krqTVTUyA58cYDMeUbEbhcGNGq2QHchZfulKZxEnR4IVoY8oM39M5bi/s2048/vidar-nordli-mathisen-EczvSxn9Ges-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1398" data-original-width="2048" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-UT_8YaP0gTi3sk8wIG6OtNHwlGlk5waQQs4UyZLPWI5SUxb0uQDgXR4041zsprMd7b1VP_4eDYAM_Y5UWHb6krqTVTUyA58cYDMeUbEbhcGNGq2QHchZfulKZxEnR4IVoY8oM39M5bi/s320/vidar-nordli-mathisen-EczvSxn9Ges-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />
The next day, we headed into Granada and searched out a place that looked appetising. Eventually, on the main street off Plaza Nueva, we found SECO, a restaurant featuring mainly seafood. It was lunch time so the place was crowded. One thing I have noticed in Spain is that most people eat lunch out, usually very quickly and efficiently. A lot of them will stand at a counter, have a beer and some tapas and head back to work.<br />
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We ordered grilled asparagus with garlic and olive oil, grilled oyster mushrooms with a similar sauce, hearts of lettuce salad with a roasted garlic dressing that was red with paprika and utterly divine, baby red mullets deep fried whole in light batter and large, shelled tiger prawns, also deep fried in a light batter. Our table was groaning under all the plates and I think the waiter thought our eyes were definitely bigger than our bellies. But he didn’t know us and our capacity to swoon over perfectly crisp asparagus dripping in local olive oil or our penchant for trying to figure out exactly what was in a dish. It wasn’t cheap (€52 for two of us with wine) but we ate the lot and would highly recommend it.<br />
<a href="https://www.tripping.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/CIMG2333_-_Copy.JPG.scaled1000.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-272" height="270" src="https://www.tripping.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/CIMG2333_-_Copy.JPG.scaled1000.jpg" width="400" /></a>The following day, up in the high Alpujarras at a temperature of about 5C, we came across a roadside inn, Bodega Guillermo, just outside of Pampaneira, again right at lunch time. This time, it was filled with Spanish hikers and they all looked hungry. We ordered from the menu, not really knowing what we were getting and we were not disappointed. One of the best things I have eaten in ages was a soup, more like a stew, called Potaje a la Gitanilla. It was made with pork bones cooked to the point where the soup turned to jelly as soon as it cooled. The main soup base was then added to with chickpeas, pork offal and chorizo. The offal part might not be to everyone’s taste but the flavour was so robust you could feel it sticking to your ribs as you ate. With it we had a tomato and garlic salad, heavy on the garlic, crusty bread and delicious coffee – well worth the €25 for the two of us, including a glass of wine and a liqueur to warm us.<br />
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For those hours we spent exploring the cafes and restaurants of Andalucía, we forgot all about our trials and tribulations. That’s the beauty of food – it transports you to another place; in our case, a place we will never forget.<br />
<a href="https://www.tripping.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Winter_Sunset_at_the_Alhambra_Granada_04-07-2010_5-15-23_PM.JPG.scaled1000.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-273" height="300" src="https://www.tripping.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Winter_Sunset_at_the_Alhambra_Granada_04-07-2010_5-15-23_PM.JPG.scaled1000.jpg" width="400" /></a><em>Craving more? Be sure to read about Maya’s <a href="http://blog.tripping.com/foodie-friday-the-temptation-of-a-swedish-chr">“Swedish delights”</a>, check out her <a href="http://thesoundofthenight.blogspot.com/">blog</a>, and stay tuned for more tasty thoughts from this <a href="https://www.tripping.com/networks/network/index/networkid/32">epicurean</a> Tripper. </em><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-24654877183556662392011-04-07T07:35:00.001-04:002011-04-07T10:10:30.760-04:00A Visit to CobhLast Sunday, my darling sister, Luarena, gave me a belated Christmas present of a stay at <a href="http://www.fotaisland.ie/">Fota Island Spa Hotel</a> near Cobh, Co. Cork. As some of you will know, <a href="http://cobhonline.com/">Cobh</a> is our hometown and a place we all still miss in some ways. I know I do and feel great nostalgia for the place.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXBxkPoqfn9uXCYqAUKQPr4ZyjAZ13ort5-5KOhMPFrbnOz9UtgU9kxkH3Si60meXCIJo7-ZAIFck4OFgjNLabvcgNbCVll1B3m_K8mAJ_cukwCH3rcZDBvzBZy_RtlLtO0ps-AuQnqVq/s1600/Fota+Island+Spa+Pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXBxkPoqfn9uXCYqAUKQPr4ZyjAZ13ort5-5KOhMPFrbnOz9UtgU9kxkH3Si60meXCIJo7-ZAIFck4OFgjNLabvcgNbCVll1B3m_K8mAJ_cukwCH3rcZDBvzBZy_RtlLtO0ps-AuQnqVq/s320/Fota+Island+Spa+Pool.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fota Island Spa had a great deal on: €109 for two people sharing including the use of the Hydrotherapy Suite and Hammam. Other services were extra. We took a look at the Hydrotherapy pool and loved what we saw and decided to skip extras as we were on a budget. As it turned out, we made a good choice and spent hours in the pool, which was lovely and warm, enjoying the water that gushed onto our necks, working out those kinks and a 'river' that went in a circle around a big pillar and forced you around very quickly. I spent hours in that, loving every minute of it. There were jets that pummeled your feet and legs, your back and, best of all, a giant geyser that forced water onto whatever part of the body you wished. I tried standing on it and it made my feet tingle really nicely as well as massaging my knees and back and stomach. We went from one spot to another for a good two hours until we were so prune-like it was definitely time to get out.<br />
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After that we hit the Hammam and breathed in the eucalyptus fraganced steam, warming our bodies on the tiles for about 15 minutes. We had left our bathrobes and magazines in another resting room that has beds that are heated. When we went back in, we found someone had taken my sister's seat, thrown her robe on the floor and was reading her magazine. When my sister asked her for her magazine back, the woman sneered at her and reluctantly handed it over! Some manners..<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8dMtUX1yTo1jaAQW6zDdYYZv_FGMyA1IXNaJsCMF9J9rnJGQKXhIy2E1wmO0ApL_n1HPlal8pf6Irie3yqasBvsTFA16sJHliUXvAan5WsPAHSKUkhuCryvQWmVdbpugBihyphenhyphenpGDjpO-f/s1600/Fota+Island+Spa+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8dMtUX1yTo1jaAQW6zDdYYZv_FGMyA1IXNaJsCMF9J9rnJGQKXhIy2E1wmO0ApL_n1HPlal8pf6Irie3yqasBvsTFA16sJHliUXvAan5WsPAHSKUkhuCryvQWmVdbpugBihyphenhyphenpGDjpO-f/s1600/Fota+Island+Spa+Room.jpg" /></a></div>We had dinner in our room, served by a wonderful waitress who couldn't have been more helpful and charming and watched the Dancing on Ice final. Luarena, who is a night bird normally, fell asleep at 10.30pm after a bath in the wonderfully deep tub in our bathroom. I, for some reason, couldn't sleep at all and ended up awake until about 4.30am going through one of those dark nights of the soul that are so awful.<br />
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The next day, we headed to our hometown and went straight up to our old house, Roseville, a late Georgian house that even today to our grown-up selves looks big. It was lovely to see the place being cared for, except for the horrible plastic windows they'd put in. I know, I know, they're cheaper and they work. But they look awful and I wish they would make plastic windows that look less <i>plastic</i>! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgDv1nOZB152NhKAzxpsoaPFTd2YJmhdYzDOvpBu9lDRnrbcJTstc-nlGl1rtKOu_gpxvyKuZXHk_cKnidQbP0-687biN3ILZRQD0ae7GBbasfkkBquME4lWzkPIKLOSmWCGoN-hsA7cJ/s1600/CIMG2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgDv1nOZB152NhKAzxpsoaPFTd2YJmhdYzDOvpBu9lDRnrbcJTstc-nlGl1rtKOu_gpxvyKuZXHk_cKnidQbP0-687biN3ILZRQD0ae7GBbasfkkBquME4lWzkPIKLOSmWCGoN-hsA7cJ/s320/CIMG2405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXm2dJ02eV3SiQ93Dd5qEmb2XiyebDzVQBo8GWk_F61M19fMgBtNXLwduVO63eJLPRPmH527ZtVx7SmWydf9a7XlIP8Iuyg2E9rDorqAjrqBdI2aCTdW05w31en3D0DDQvOu4pEaHXDrd7/s1600/CIMG2419-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXm2dJ02eV3SiQ93Dd5qEmb2XiyebDzVQBo8GWk_F61M19fMgBtNXLwduVO63eJLPRPmH527ZtVx7SmWydf9a7XlIP8Iuyg2E9rDorqAjrqBdI2aCTdW05w31en3D0DDQvOu4pEaHXDrd7/s320/CIMG2419-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>After that we went down the the beach we used to swim at, Cuskinny and had a bit more nostalgia - not all of it good. When I was a little over three, we went swimming there and my oldest sister put me in a rubber ring, an inner tyre I think, and my bum was stuck down in the hole and suddenly a wave came and tossed me over and I was upside down breathing in water. It scared the living daylights out of me and, to this day, the thought of water getting up my nose panics me and I have never been able to jump into water out of my depth because of it. It made me think, again, about doing something to get over this fear because I love water, the sea, the ocean, lakes, boats, fishing and all that. I envy people who can jump into water and swim like fish. <br />
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Going back to Cobh always brings up memories of our childhood and how much we loved it there. From the moment we left Cobh, nothing was ever the same again.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-75175606916498162332011-03-30T08:12:00.000-04:002011-03-30T08:12:13.590-04:00World Wide Wed - A Moroccan Marriage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="posterousGalleryMainDiv p_embed p_image_embed" data-posterous-file-list="%5B%7B%22large%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FejDGsoscCpsArluugJvgjumdmsGfjEdkvwpbpvDmCrAorAhDsEDJrHjenJgt%2F1382977190_89210683ae.jpg.scaled1000.jpg%22%2C%22originalWidth%22%3A%22500%22%2C%22largeWidth%22%3A%22500%22%2C%22thumb%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FejDGsoscCpsArluugJvgjumdmsGfjEdkvwpbpvDmCrAorAhDsEDJrHjenJgt%2F1382977190_89210683ae.jpg.thumb.jpg%22%2C%22originalHeight%22%3A%22333%22%2C%22largeHeight%22%3A%22333%22%2C%22thumbWidth%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22height%22%3A%22333%22%2C%22main%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FejDGsoscCpsArluugJvgjumdmsGfjEdkvwpbpvDmCrAorAhDsEDJrHjenJgt%2F1382977190_89210683ae.jpg.scaled500.jpg%22%2C%22thumbHeight%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22originalSize%22%3A%22156%22%2C%22original%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FejDGsoscCpsArluugJvgjumdmsGfjEdkvwpbpvDmCrAorAhDsEDJrHjenJgt%2F1382977190_89210683ae.jpg%22%2C%22width%22%3A%22500%22%7D%5D" data-posterous-image-gallery-initialized="true" data-posterous-image-gallery="true" data-posterous-options="%7B%22zipFile%22%3Anull%2C%22zipFileSize%22%3Anull%2C%22external_url%22%3Anull%2C%22showDownload%22%3Atrue%2C%22url_slug%22%3A%22world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage%22%7D" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="posterousGalleryMainDiv p_embed p_image_embed" data-posterous-file-list="%5B%7B%22large%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FEcajtwIdGhjAckIfIsfCGEgwwDeubHqgBvekaFAcxiaFdyhcgqIAfldhmDxn%2FH_henna-1.jpg%22%2C%22originalWidth%22%3A%22268%22%2C%22largeWidth%22%3A%22268%22%2C%22thumb%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FEcajtwIdGhjAckIfIsfCGEgwwDeubHqgBvekaFAcxiaFdyhcgqIAfldhmDxn%2FH_henna-1.jpg.thumb.jpg%22%2C%22originalHeight%22%3A%22400%22%2C%22largeHeight%22%3A%22400%22%2C%22thumbWidth%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22height%22%3A%22400%22%2C%22main%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FEcajtwIdGhjAckIfIsfCGEgwwDeubHqgBvekaFAcxiaFdyhcgqIAfldhmDxn%2FH_henna-1.jpg.scaled500.jpg%22%2C%22thumbHeight%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22originalSize%22%3A%2243%22%2C%22original%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FEcajtwIdGhjAckIfIsfCGEgwwDeubHqgBvekaFAcxiaFdyhcgqIAfldhmDxn%2FH_henna-1.jpg%22%2C%22width%22%3A%22268%22%7D%5D" data-posterous-image-gallery-initialized="true" data-posterous-image-gallery="true" data-posterous-options="%7B%22zipFile%22%3Anull%2C%22zipFileSize%22%3Anull%2C%22external_url%22%3Anull%2C%22showDownload%22%3Atrue%2C%22url_slug%22%3A%22world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage%22%7D" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> <img alt="H_henna-1" height="400" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/temp-2011-03-29/EcajtwIdGhjAckIfIsfCGEgwwDeubHqgBvekaFAcxiaFdyhcgqIAfldhmDxn/H_henna-1.jpg.scaled500.jpg" width="268" /> </div><br />
<i>Originally posted on <a href="http://tripping.com/">Tripping.com</a> on March 29, 2011</i><br />
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Most non-Moroccans don't ever get to experience a Moroccan wedding so it was a real privilege to attend one and see what it's like. To be fair, this particular Moroccan wedding was not exactly typical because the bride was European so a lot of her friends and family attended, making the events slightly different than they might have been otherwise.<br />
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For the bride, one of the most fun parts is being able to wear multiple wedding gowns, or <em>takshitas</em>, and what gowns they are! They are made of silk and lace and come in layers of two or three parts. The dresses are made to order and each one is created using the traditional Moroccan <em>sfifa</em>, the braiding that is used on the edges and complements the colours in the fabrics. The more money you have to spend, the more dresses you get to wear. Aside from being very glamorous, it can be exhausting changing every hour or so.<br />
<div class="posterousGalleryMainDiv p_embed p_image_embed" data-posterous-file-list="%5B%7B%22large%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FAFDalJBiDJqsaynDAJCbrauwqCinxbjEczCrbkqnpAwFwouvhCneExswqpFf%2Fpics-of-moroccan-wedding-brides-dresses-7.jpg.scaled1000.jpg%22%2C%22originalWidth%22%3A%22524%22%2C%22largeWidth%22%3A%22524%22%2C%22thumb%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FAFDalJBiDJqsaynDAJCbrauwqCinxbjEczCrbkqnpAwFwouvhCneExswqpFf%2Fpics-of-moroccan-wedding-brides-dresses-7.jpg.thumb.jpg%22%2C%22originalHeight%22%3A%22524%22%2C%22largeHeight%22%3A%22524%22%2C%22thumbWidth%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22height%22%3A%22500%22%2C%22main%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FAFDalJBiDJqsaynDAJCbrauwqCinxbjEczCrbkqnpAwFwouvhCneExswqpFf%2Fpics-of-moroccan-wedding-brides-dresses-7.jpg.scaled500.jpg%22%2C%22thumbHeight%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22originalSize%22%3A%2277%22%2C%22original%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FAFDalJBiDJqsaynDAJCbrauwqCinxbjEczCrbkqnpAwFwouvhCneExswqpFf%2Fpics-of-moroccan-wedding-brides-dresses-7.jpg%22%2C%22width%22%3A%22500%22%7D%5D" data-posterous-image-gallery-initialized="true" data-posterous-image-gallery="true" data-posterous-options="%7B%22zipFile%22%3Anull%2C%22zipFileSize%22%3Anull%2C%22external_url%22%3Anull%2C%22showDownload%22%3Atrue%2C%22url_slug%22%3A%22world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage%22%7D"><a class="posterousGalleryMainlink" href="http://blog.tripping.com/world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage#" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="320" id="mainImage" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/temp-2011-03-29/AFDalJBiDJqsaynDAJCbrauwqCinxbjEczCrbkqnpAwFwouvhCneExswqpFf/pics-of-moroccan-wedding-brides-dresses-7.jpg.scaled500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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About 250 guests attended, of which 65 were non-Moroccans. The Moroccans went all out to make sure that the foreign guests were made very welcome and even combined the sexes for the Henna party the day before. This being Rabat, the wedding party was probably a bit more sophisticated than most as normally the men and women are separate until the actual wedding ceremony when everyone comes together. The Henna party is when the bride has her hands and feet painted with Henna patterns and would usually be told the secrets of marriage. In this case, it was a big party, with huge amounts of food, all special recipes just for weddings, and a troupe of musicians who all looked decidedly high on something. The bride and groom were walked into the room with attendants carrying candles and incense, all the women ululating in unison. It was cacophonous and spine tingling.<br />
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The following day, when all the guests were assembled and the band playing, the bride, wearing her white dress, emblazoned with sequins and beads and silver braided <em>sfifa</em>, was carried overhead in a highly decorated palanquin, by four strong men. As she entered the hall, the crowd rose in one ululating swarm, throwing rose petals all over her. After her came her groom on a white horse, its saddle and bridle bright red and highly decorated. The horse wore blinders so as not to be disturbed by the swaying, chanting crowd. Flash bulbs were going off nonstop - it was a bit like being at a rock concert.<br />
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The bride and groom were placed on a specially decorated dais, hung with flowers and lights and were left to sit there for the entire evening, only moving to change their clothes five more times!<br />
<div class="posterousGalleryMainDiv p_embed p_image_embed" data-posterous-file-list="%5B%7B%22large%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-30%2FndqkFbdxtcAtCbrnvAjzHDkwaytCbBmicarkJvpyzpaeAByvjhAFjskkJppw%2F000036-1.jpg.scaled1000.jpg%22%2C%22originalWidth%22%3A%221228%22%2C%22largeWidth%22%3A%22679%22%2C%22thumb%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-30%2FndqkFbdxtcAtCbrnvAjzHDkwaytCbBmicarkJvpyzpaeAByvjhAFjskkJppw%2F000036-1.jpg.thumb.jpg%22%2C%22originalHeight%22%3A%221808%22%2C%22largeHeight%22%3A%221000%22%2C%22thumbWidth%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22height%22%3A%22736%22%2C%22main%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-30%2FndqkFbdxtcAtCbrnvAjzHDkwaytCbBmicarkJvpyzpaeAByvjhAFjskkJppw%2F000036-1.jpg.scaled500.jpg%22%2C%22thumbHeight%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22originalSize%22%3A%22254%22%2C%22original%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-30%2FndqkFbdxtcAtCbrnvAjzHDkwaytCbBmicarkJvpyzpaeAByvjhAFjskkJppw%2F000036-1.jpg%22%2C%22width%22%3A%22500%22%7D%5D" data-posterous-image-gallery-initialized="true" data-posterous-image-gallery="true" data-posterous-options="%7B%22zipFile%22%3Anull%2C%22zipFileSize%22%3Anull%2C%22external_url%22%3Anull%2C%22showDownload%22%3Atrue%2C%22url_slug%22%3A%22world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage%22%7D"><a class="posterousGalleryMainlink" href="http://blog.tripping.com/world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage#" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img height="400" id="mainImage" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/temp-2011-03-30/ndqkFbdxtcAtCbrnvAjzHDkwaytCbBmicarkJvpyzpaeAByvjhAFjskkJppw/000036-1.jpg.scaled500.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>To cement the marriage, the bride and groom are brought dates and milk on a tray and their wedding rings on a cushion. They feed each other the dates and milk as a symbol of their love for each other and then place the rings on each other's fingers. There is no officiating religious entity, just the families and friends to witness it as they had been legally married by a judge some months earlier.<br />
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People took it in turns to be photographed with the bride and groom and eventually they were given some tea to ease their parched throats. Enormous amounts of food were served and eventually the dancing started. I noticed that some of the Europeans kept disappearing for longer and longer periods and eventually discovered that there was a stash of alcohol in someone's room. Some of the relations of the groom had said they would not come if there was alcohol served so the solution has been to keep it somewhere else. Very effective as no one seemed to notice that a few people were getting a bit merrier than the rest.<br />
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For a country where women are encouraged to be demure, I always find it fascinating how sexy they are when they dance and how much the men love to watch them. All the women were dressed in their finest <em>takshitas</em>, only the married or older ladies with their hair covered with matching scarves. They are so graceful and beautiful when they dance and even the small girls seem to be born being able to move their hips the right way. Some of the younger women with long hair would toss it around and around as they danced.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ql6_YxkguSM7oYkuM91JblpAlBUCGIO_Tm5Gph0o9qGoSAyJbcOP2lgnGpAVKg_bCsWtu8EAAiG1LG7bxQJy7LxtTbFNBHhcqepimRtyzzrUggN0Rw4Y-nz4Gqk3_ksSbjaJAy0Mw4cd/s1600/1382977190_89210683ae.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ql6_YxkguSM7oYkuM91JblpAlBUCGIO_Tm5Gph0o9qGoSAyJbcOP2lgnGpAVKg_bCsWtu8EAAiG1LG7bxQJy7LxtTbFNBHhcqepimRtyzzrUggN0Rw4Y-nz4Gqk3_ksSbjaJAy0Mw4cd/s320/1382977190_89210683ae.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Weddings start really late in Morocco - 9pm would be early! By the time the bride had changed five times, all the photos had been taken and the constant supply of food exhausted, it was about 4am. Once the oldest people had left, the younger crowd got together in someone's room, with the bride and groom, and more wine was imbibed and photographs taken.<br />
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It was an experience not likely to be repeated; a memory to be treasured forever.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a class="posterousGalleryMainlink" href="http://blog.tripping.com/world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage#" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="300" id="mainImage" src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/temp-2011-03-29/omeCFjvfnGsxcEuDzIHyyCrxHitBuGafzxbrCsszqkJJbldBkrIenDCtGCvB/1541177travelpicturethelm2.jpg.scaled500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="posterousGalleryMainDiv p_embed p_image_embed" data-posterous-file-list="%5B%7B%22large%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FomeCFjvfnGsxcEuDzIHyyCrxHitBuGafzxbrCsszqkJJbldBkrIenDCtGCvB%2F1541177travelpicturethelm2.jpg.scaled1000.jpg%22%2C%22originalWidth%22%3A%22560%22%2C%22largeWidth%22%3A%22560%22%2C%22thumb%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FomeCFjvfnGsxcEuDzIHyyCrxHitBuGafzxbrCsszqkJJbldBkrIenDCtGCvB%2F1541177travelpicturethelm2.jpg.thumb.jpg%22%2C%22originalHeight%22%3A%22420%22%2C%22largeHeight%22%3A%22420%22%2C%22thumbWidth%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22height%22%3A%22375%22%2C%22main%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FomeCFjvfnGsxcEuDzIHyyCrxHitBuGafzxbrCsszqkJJbldBkrIenDCtGCvB%2F1541177travelpicturethelm2.jpg.scaled500.jpg%22%2C%22thumbHeight%22%3A%2236%22%2C%22originalSize%22%3A%2238%22%2C%22original%22%3A%22http%3A%2F%2Fposterous.com%2Fgetfile%2Ffiles.posterous.com%2Ftemp-2011-03-29%2FomeCFjvfnGsxcEuDzIHyyCrxHitBuGafzxbrCsszqkJJbldBkrIenDCtGCvB%2F1541177travelpicturethelm2.jpg%22%2C%22width%22%3A%22500%22%7D%5D" data-posterous-image-gallery-initialized="true" data-posterous-image-gallery="true" data-posterous-options="%7B%22zipFile%22%3Anull%2C%22zipFileSize%22%3Anull%2C%22external_url%22%3Anull%2C%22showDownload%22%3Atrue%2C%22url_slug%22%3A%22world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage%22%7D"></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo credit to <a href="https://www.tripping.com/profile/info/index/memberid/14249">Maya Hanley</a>, <a href="http://www.muslimproposals.com/2009/09/moroccan-henna-party.html">Muslim Proposals</a>, <a href="http://www.weddingred.net/">WeddingRed.net</a>, and Marios Savva. </em></span><br />
<div style="float: left; padding: 5px;"> <img src="http://blog.tripping.com/images/icons/services/twitter11.png" style="position: relative; top: -1px; vertical-align: middle;" /> <a class="posterous_retweet" data-posterous-post-id="47746068" data-posterous-retweet="true" href="http://blog.tripping.com/world-wide-wed-a-moroccan-marriage#" id="retweet_link_for_post_id_47746068">Retweet</a> </div><div style="float: left; overflow: visible; padding: 5px;"> <span></span> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-8841438156444798752011-01-17T10:24:00.000-05:002011-01-17T10:24:51.270-05:00Little French Girl with a Vivid Imagination<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I came across this via a friend on Twitter and had to share it with you. This little girl has a wonderful imagination and very fluent use of language, regardless of whether she were speaking English, French or any other language. It's adorable:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enjoy!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OtgmreAhqPs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-1629754439534689622011-01-08T12:14:00.000-05:002011-01-08T12:14:38.389-05:00The Temptation of a Swedish Christmas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First published on <a href="http://blog.tripping.com/foodie-friday-the-temptation-of-a-swedish-chr">Tripping.com</a>, a US website dedicated to all things travel related.</span><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">THE TEMPTATION OF A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I lived in Sweden for 5 years and still miss it now that I am no longer there. It's a country that everyone should visit. The summers are glorious, filled with light and greenery and the coastal areas are wonderful to explore. Bohuslän, which is the coast area around Göteborg, on the west coast, is stunningly beautiful with an archipelago of large and small islands. You might take your boat out to a small island; just big enough to have a small cabin with steps down to the boat and picnic there, swimming off the rock and relaxing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People spend most of the time outdoors in the summer as the winters are so long and dark but, even so; winter is also a gorgeous time. With bright blue skies and deep snow, the outdoors in winter can be exciting and, if you like skiing and skating, it is a wonderful place to be.</span><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 7.5pt;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">One of the things I loved about Sweden was the ritualistic nature of life there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are countless traditions that pass from generation to generation. For example, there are certain foods you only eat at certain times of the year or on certain days of the week. Things like hot cross buns in the UK, which used to be eaten only on Good Friday, are now eaten for weeks or months around Easter. In Sweden, at Easter, they make wonderful cardamom flavoured buns called Semlor (that's plural; one is a Semla). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The top is cut off; the center scooped out and filled with a marzipan mixture, covered in whipped cream and the topped with the rest of the bun. Some people like to eat it in a bowl of hot milk. I liked it just as it was. I knew that it was only going to be around for a short while so, I, like everyone else, indulged when I got the chance.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 7.5pt;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">One of the other great traditions in Sweden is having coffee and cakes. They even have a whole verb for it. It's called to 'fika'. If you visit someone, they will invariably serve you coffee that's extra strong, with small cakes and biscuits. It's said that, in the past, when a woman was to be married she had to know at least 40 different types of biscuit recipes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 7.5pt;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Each day of the week has its own food. Husmanskost is the name for traditional Swedish food. If you go into any Swedish restaurant, they will always have the daily meal on the menu. On Thursdays, it's pea soup with ham, served with warm punsch, a sweet alcoholic liqueur. On Fridays it's Pyttipanna, a sort of hash with potatoes, left over meats, topped with a fried egg and with a side order of beetroot.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 15pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 7.5pt;"><span style="color: #424037; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Another favourite is Jansson’s Frestelse (Jansson’s Temptation).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A traditional part of the Christmas meal, it’s very easy to make. Here’s a good recipe:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe0KEFUsHPevxw-54XuIXhdyrXcYOdzkoQONWninGgi6bgdHpJNE2eAlSizNKVo7lhjYyqH8rgK4brVq1cGyGiRIe6CmZPukEfdb9b_3ZYtbv1_3HT6jncQYtBf4A2nctOl9BFDoFJh0P/s1600/klassisk_janssons_frestelse_medium.jpg.scaled500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGe0KEFUsHPevxw-54XuIXhdyrXcYOdzkoQONWninGgi6bgdHpJNE2eAlSizNKVo7lhjYyqH8rgK4brVq1cGyGiRIe6CmZPukEfdb9b_3ZYtbv1_3HT6jncQYtBf4A2nctOl9BFDoFJh0P/s320/klassisk_janssons_frestelse_medium.jpg.scaled500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><strong><span style="color: #4d4d4d; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">NOTE: The spice-cured sprats mentioned can be substituted with herring pickled with spices and onions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you live near an IKEA store, you can easily get the right of herring or sprats. Sometimes people mistranslate the Swedish ‘ansjovis’ as anchovies but they’re actually sprats. If you like, you can use anchovies but don’t add any salt and be sparing with them, to your taste.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><strong><span style="color: #4d4d4d; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></strong></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">Ingredients</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">6–8 servings</span></em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">1.2 kg (2½ lb) potatoes</span></em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">400 g (14 oz) onions</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">375 g (13 oz) spice-cured sprat filets (or pickled herring)</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">600 ml (3 cups) heavy whipping cream</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">salt, white pepper</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">breadcrumbs</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">butter</span></em></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;">Preparation</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Peel the potatoes and cut them into thin slices. Peel and cut the onions also into thin slices. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Sauté the onions in a little butter, without browning. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Grease an ovenproof baking dish and cover the bottom with a layer of potatoes, then add half the onions and half the sprat (or herring) filets. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Then add another layer of potatoes, then the rest of the onion and sprats. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Finish with a layer of potatoes. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Add some ground black pepper and a little salt (Be careful with salt as the sprats (or herrings) are usually quite salty. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Pour the cream over until it is almost visible through the potatoes. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Place a few pats of butter on top and sprinkle with a good handful of breadcrumbs. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 11.25pt; margin-bottom: 7.5pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Bake in the oven (250oC/475oF) for about an hour.</span></em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-77144082592864532662011-01-07T18:42:00.001-05:002011-01-08T08:00:14.576-05:00Quellie's Almond Cake<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I was in the UK at Christmas with my most favourite aunt on the entire planet, she made one of the most delicious desserts I have ever had. She gave me the recipe and,today, for the first time in at least 20 years, I made a cake! The even better part is that it contains no flour or gluten of any kind and it's dead easy to make.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's the recipe:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEasBj2qV8XKeuaxeoPmTckv-IQXB7FprnZvH41-yshtBbZK1rX-uqJFDG2e6a2__3c_zHFNcBAkFbRP6mWQQAvRyKWwvAiLKHE_YCe5l89W4pW9YMofLjzW01YYOprMn8wZ4cXIdgrZY/s1600/almond+cake+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEasBj2qV8XKeuaxeoPmTckv-IQXB7FprnZvH41-yshtBbZK1rX-uqJFDG2e6a2__3c_zHFNcBAkFbRP6mWQQAvRyKWwvAiLKHE_YCe5l89W4pW9YMofLjzW01YYOprMn8wZ4cXIdgrZY/s400/almond+cake+crop.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Almond Cake with Raspberries and Amaretto Cream</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 medium oranges</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 lemon</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">250g ground almonds</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">250g caster sugar</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6 medium eggs</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 large tsp baking powder</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">slivered almonds</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fresh berries (raspberries are perfect)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whipped cream</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Amaretto (if desired)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Boil the oranges and lemon, whole, in enough water to cover for 1 1/2 hours. Strain and remove any seeds from the fruit but keep the skin, pith and flesh. (The left over water can make a nice syrup for other recipes, if you add sugar and simmer to reduce it.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Preheat the oven to 170C.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Add the entire fruits to a bowl and blend till smooth (or use a food processor of course). Add the ground almonds, the caster sugar, the 6 eggs and the baking powder and blend well. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pour into a greased cake tin (about 9 in diameter) or a springform cake tin so it's easy to remove (that's the best option if you have it)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sprinkle the slivered almonds on top and bake in a pre-heated oven at 170C for one hour. The first 40 minutes cover the cake with tinfoil to avoid it getting too dark and the slivered almonds getting burned. After one hour, check the centre with a knife or similar and, if it's still wet, leave for a further 10 mins or turn the oven off and take it out when the oven has cooled. Allow it to cool in the cake tin and then remove to a plate and serve with berries and whipped cream either mixed with Amaretto or plain, as desired.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will love this recipe. It's slightly bitter from the oranges and lemon, sweet from the sugar and smooth from the almonds. Nothing could be nicer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's my aunt, Quellie, who gave me the recipe. Isn't she gorgeous?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOcxLPLO48h0_ew0V70HkkaUbjfDfPWgUVRhYC54Z-g44pwb34TeolWUMHroHR1xwIkyTq8yWFnfdYKSZ6IcANDu73WRNhBOOlxace3vnBMY3Wv68bsa7Yvhtpjn-sfhWU4PHqRunvpxf/s1600/CIMG2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOcxLPLO48h0_ew0V70HkkaUbjfDfPWgUVRhYC54Z-g44pwb34TeolWUMHroHR1xwIkyTq8yWFnfdYKSZ6IcANDu73WRNhBOOlxace3vnBMY3Wv68bsa7Yvhtpjn-sfhWU4PHqRunvpxf/s320/CIMG2279.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Feel free to share it with your friends and family.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What's your favourite dessert?</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-91533674038029372052010-12-11T07:31:00.001-05:002010-12-11T07:35:29.554-05:00Mindful Knitting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I learned to knit when I was about four and a half. I didn't get good at it till later, of course, but I remember being in school and, tongue sticking out, trying to get the wool around the needles and pull it through the loop to make a stitch. It felt like a huge achievement every time I managed it. I remember the classroom, with it's small children's chairs and tables, the pale wood of the floor, polished to a high shine, the smell of the lino in the hallway and the rustle of the nun's habit as she glided, seemingly on wheels, between the tables, to see how we were doing. I was inordinately proud of myself that day and raced home to my mother to tell her what I had accomplished. For some reason, it came easily to me and I turned into the knitter in the family.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From<span id="goog_146058760"></span> <a href="http://craftism.wordpress.com/">Craftism.wordpress.com</a><span id="goog_146058761"></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I knitted jumpers for everyone I knew. I crocheted 'cloche' hats with flowers on the side which I wore over my long curly hair. I made them for my sisters and friends. I knitted egg cozys and mittens, on four needles; socks; baby clothes; anything and everything. I have knitted countless sweaters for husbands, boyfriends and lovers.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">For many years I didn't knit because I had a job that meant I was traveling all the time. I was usually too tired to do anything at the end of the day but read a bit and sleep so all my crafts went by the wayside. I missed it.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <span id="goog_146058771"></span><a href="http://www.knitrowan.com/yarns.aspx">Rowan Yarns</a><span id="goog_146058772"></span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When I came back to Ireland, my sister called me in a panic one day because her daughter was knitting something for the first time and my sister couldn't remember how to cast off. She said 'I'll be the worst mother in the world if I don't do this for her!' I was about to open my mouth to tell her what to do when I realised I couldn't remember myself! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It made me realise, though, how much I missed knitting and so I took it up again. I became a wool acquisitor. Everywhere I went I bought skeins or balls of wall, whether or not I had a pattern for it. I found gorgeous red cashmere skeins in Venice. I bought patterns, books and wool in Amsterdam in a little shop I found called De Afstap. I haunted that place. I had a growing pile of wool but was traveling so much I rarely had time to actually knit anything and, when I did, it usually took months of picking it up and putting it down. I ended up with boxes of non-started or half-started projects.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Flash forward a few more years and my collection of yarns has traveled with me from country to country and at last I am in a place, both physically and figuratively, where I can knit. I share a house with my wonderful friend, Hazel, and her two amazing daughters, Ishthara and Kashmira, Hazel is a knitter too and we oohed and aahed over each other's collections of wool and patterns. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I had had a pattern and yarn for a small handbag in cable knitting, that I had got as part of a free gift from <a href="http://www.knitrowan.com/rowan-international-membership.aspx">Rowan International</a> and had stared at it many times wondering how to do it. I had never tried cable as it always seemed an insurmountable learning curve. One day, I just decided to get cable needles and give it a go. I found it was easier than I thought but that I really had to focus on the pattern to get it right. The bag was knitted, I was very proud of it, despite the, to me, obvious mistakes in it. So I decided to knit it again in a different colour. (Remember, I have mountains of yarns to use!). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">At the same time, I had discovered the joys of audio books and was listening to <a href="http://www.audiobooksonline.com/Outlander_Book_1_Diana_Gabaldon_unabridged_compact_discs.html">Outlander by Diana Gabaldon</a>. I realised that listening to the book and knitting would be a great combination so, every evening, I retired to my room, set up my PC on my bed with headphones and got my knitting out.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To my surprise, I realised that my knitting improved dramatically! I had always had loose tension when knitting and usually had to go down a size in needles to accommodate this as otherwise whatever I was knitting came out too big or loose. I also often made mistakes and had a few stitches that were bigger or smaller than the others, or I dropped a stitch without noticing. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Knitting listening to my book, I concentrated on every stitch I made and was able to watch everything I did. I had always knitted in front of the television and, of course, you are then either not watching the knitting or not watching the TV. Now, I was watching everything and listening at the same time. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivL3F-EJgjk0CEaU5X6caj8kKTABI6m-9yi0tCFlXYBiQy0vcYH4_7EJGTZqh-Pg3WiZuqR6ZgpbGv_zbPa9O1QaeYRcvy3C0O0nGrOSbho3zJzp26vGLJdKDvg-rpf0jxPErlU8k5Tbn7/s1600/CIMG2256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivL3F-EJgjk0CEaU5X6caj8kKTABI6m-9yi0tCFlXYBiQy0vcYH4_7EJGTZqh-Pg3WiZuqR6ZgpbGv_zbPa9O1QaeYRcvy3C0O0nGrOSbho3zJzp26vGLJdKDvg-rpf0jxPErlU8k5Tbn7/s320/CIMG2256.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the difference in the size?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The first cable bag was made watching television. The second listening to my book. The difference between the two bags is the difference between doing something mindlessly or mindfully. After more than 40 years of knitting (with a hiatus for travel), I had found the secret to making my knitting sing. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Not only did the second bag come out smaller, tighter and better knitted, I had a sense of accomplishment that I had missed for a long time. I felt elated at this discovery. I noticed that by knitting mindfully I was also able to knit it in two sittings. I noticed that when I was knitting I felt like I thought my mother felt when she knitted for us. I felt she was with me, inside me, moving my hands and saying 'See, darling, how good you can be when you put your mind to it'.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZn20oHWAM4r7RqUZ8DG7RfBlAwq1yih0oUxvgH8j0KpPHx0uHyzUUjFiuqNGyrTAlkR_TvE4DJAEs0yO_5JEKSGC65Gwqi_xfDTGHNRKMp1ZZqcb_SYIm9wkFW2xk3UAJzVfKY6jJyAJ/s1600/CIMG2262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZn20oHWAM4r7RqUZ8DG7RfBlAwq1yih0oUxvgH8j0KpPHx0uHyzUUjFiuqNGyrTAlkR_TvE4DJAEs0yO_5JEKSGC65Gwqi_xfDTGHNRKMp1ZZqcb_SYIm9wkFW2xk3UAJzVfKY6jJyAJ/s320/CIMG2262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See how much looser this is to the one below?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Now, I am going through my box of yarns and patterns, wading my way through the Outlander series on audio books (all 300+ hours of it) and finishing all the half started or never started projects I've dragged all over the world with me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">What have you always wished you had accomplished?</span><br />
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<a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_146058753"></span><span id="goog_146058754"></span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_146058767"></span><span id="goog_146058768"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-14100125580920174992010-11-30T18:42:00.000-05:002010-11-30T18:42:11.428-05:00BBC's 100 Best Books List<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">The idea is to copy this list, post it in your blog or on Facebook or wherever. <b>BOLD</b> the ones you've read and <i>italicise</i> the ones you've started or dipped into.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">I find the list quite odd in some ways. Dan Brown makes it but not Hemingway or Vonnegut? Fun nevertheless. See how many you've read.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">1. <b>Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>2. The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>3. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">4. <i>Harry Potter series – JK Rowling</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">5. <b>To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>6. The King James Bible</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>7. Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>8. Nineteen Eighty Four (1984) – George Orwell</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>9. His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>10. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>11. Little Women – Louisa M Alcott</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>12. Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><i>13. </i><b>Catch 22 – Joseph Heller</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><em>14. Complete Works of Shakespeare</em></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">15. <b>Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>16. The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b><i>17. </i>Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>18. Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>19. The Time Traveler’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>20. Middlemarch – George Eliot</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>21. Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>22. The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">23. Bleak House – Charles Dickens</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>24. War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><em>25. </em>The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>26. Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>27. Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>28. Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">29. Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>30. The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>31. Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>32. David Copperfield – Charles Dickens</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>33. Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>34. Emma -Jane Austen</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">35. Persuasion – Jane Austen</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>36. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe – CS Lewis</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>37. The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>38. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Bernieres</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>39. Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>40. Winnie the Pooh – A.A. Milne</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>41. Animal Farm – George Orwell</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>42. The DaVinci Code – Dan Brown</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>43. One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">45. <i>The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">46. Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>47. Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>48. The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>49. Lord of the Flies – William Golding</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>50. Atonement – Ian McEwan</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>51. Life of Pi – Yann Martel</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">52. Dune – Frank Herbert</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">53. Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>54. Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>55. A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>56. The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>57. A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>58. Brave New World – Aldous Huxley</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Mark Haddon</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>60. Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>61. Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">62. Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>63. The Secret History – Donna Tartt</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>64. The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>65. Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">66. On The Road – Jack Kerouac</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>67. Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>68. Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><em>69. Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie</em></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">70. Moby Dick – Herman Melville</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>71. Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>72. Dracula – Bram Stoker</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">7<b>3. The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>74. Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">75. <i>Ulysses – James Joyce</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">76. The Inferno – Dante</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>77. Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">78. Germinal – Emile Zola</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">79. Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">8<b>0. Possession – AS Byatt</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>81. Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>82. Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>83. The Color Purple – Alice Walker</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>84. The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>85. Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>86. A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>87. Charlotte’s Web – E.B. White</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">89. <i>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">90. The Faraway Tree Collection – Enid Blyton</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">91. Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>92. The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>93. The Wasp Factory – Iain Banks</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b><i>94. </i>Watership Down – Richard Adams</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>95. A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>96. A Town Like Alice – Nevil Shute</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">9<b>7. The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">98. <i>Hamlet – William Shakespeare</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Roald Dahl</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;"><b>100. Les Miserables – Victor Hugo</b></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-66841684565029336442010-09-06T13:25:00.002-04:002010-09-08T12:06:21.773-04:00Browsing in a Second Hand Bookstore Can Change Your Life<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was a young woman, about 17-18, I was living in Dublin and, of course, never had much money. I have always and still do adore reading and so used to spend a lot of my time in second hand bookstores. </span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There used to be one on the street where the Stephen's Green shopping centre is now, across from Stock Design (where, incidentally, I worked until I left Ireland for Sweden at 19 years of age). I used to haunt that bookshop and often found real gems, like my favourite Herman Hesse novel, Narcissus and Goldmund. I used to also look for my father's books, of which there were many at the time. I don't think they are as available now as they used to be. I loved finding The Year of the Lion, The Consul at Sunset or See You in Yasukuni. I loved finding his books as it made me feel proud to have him as a father. At that time, most of his books were still in print and he went on to write a couple more before completely drying up. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only one of his 8 books published at the time that I had not yet found in this shop, or anywhere else, was The Journey Homeward, which was set in India. It was the only book, at that point, that was about India as most of the others were set in Africa. I wanted it to complete my collection. I had multiple copies of most of the others and used to give them as gifts to close friends sometimes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On my 18th birthday, my oldest sister and her husband took my twin and I out for dinner. Before we went out to Howth to the King Sitric, we went for a drink in what was then the Berni Inn off Grafton Street. There, Jacquie told us about the real reason why there was an almost 11 year age gap between herself and our next sister, three years older than my twin and me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It turned out that my father and mother had moved to England after WWII, from Kenya where they had met and fallen in love. My father as going to work for the BBC and other organisations, as a writer and journalist. He got a job working on a movie about the Partition of India and headed off to Delhi, leaving my mother and a, by now, 3 year old Jacquie. While in India, he met a fascinating Indian woman who had been brought up by a proper English spinster and educated in England. She was also working on the same project. He fell in love with her and divorced my mother, by proxy, in England, leaving her stranded there with no money and a small child in post-war Britain. Eventually, my mother and sisters (she had a child from another, very short-lived, relationship sometime after my father had left her) were repatriated to Kenya by the government there.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My father lived in England and India with his new wife and had two sons with her. In 1954, he went back to Kenya looking for my mother as he had had, what has been referred to in letters I have read, as a crisis of conscience about his Catholic faith and the fact that, according to the Catholic church, his first wife was his only 'true' wife (despite the fact that they had had a civil marriage in Nairobi in the midst of WWII). He persuaded my mother to return to him, leaving his Indian wife and two young boys to fend for themselves in India. She, tenacious woman that she was, moved them all the Kashmir and had a farm up there and a menagerie of animals. My half brother, Peter, has written some wonderful stuff about this time which he hopes to have published soon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back to Dublin and being told this extraordinary story (there is, in fact, much more to it but you have to wait for my memoir to hear the entire thing). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My jaw was on the floor hearing that I had two half brothers and a half sister somewhere in the world. It had never, ever dawned on me that this could be the reason for the enormous gap of 11 years and then the flurry of babies after that (two pairs of twins and three more singles). I was in some sort of shock about it and, as was typical of me at that time, I suppressed how I really felt and it took many, many years to process all of it. So many secrets and so many lies. So much stored up guilt and blame. Now a lot of what had happened was starting to make sense to me but I was not prepared for everything that came afterwards.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two days later, I was again in the second hand bookshop. There, on a low shelf, almost hidden away, I came across a copy of The Journey Homeward. I bought it. I opened up the paper bag in the street outside and took the book out to have a look through. I could never wait to read the opening paragraph of any book I bought. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On dedication page it said: To my wife, Asha, with love.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mother's name is Diana.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-5429487675683431252010-07-28T11:49:00.000-04:002010-07-28T11:49:49.612-04:00Catching UpI know I haven't posted anything for ages now but it's because I have made the decision to move from Toronto earlier than originally planned and have had a mad time dealing with the most horrific heatwave and living with no air conditioning during it. That turned into a massive cold and a perforated ear drum on the flight back to London. From there I spent a week in Wales and Cornwall with Mark and had an amazing time although it stirred up LOTS of stuff for both of us and now we are working on the outcome of that. All good stuff but lots of learning in the process. I have then had to catch up with client work and so haven't had time to really process what I want to say here. I promise to come back to is at soon as I can, with updates, news, thoughts and plans for the future. As a teaser - I am looking into studying to be a Master Herbal Medicine practitioner. Very excited about this.<br />
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Back soon.........<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-40717520313258054022010-06-21T15:00:00.001-04:002010-06-21T21:40:43.029-04:00Glendalough<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As some of you may know, I grew up near Glendalough, just outside a village called Roundwood in Co.Wicklow. Glendalough was, in a sense, our back yard. We used to go there with our mother and set up a camp beside the river, build a fire in which we would put tinfoil wrapped potatoes so they cooked in the embers and Mum would set up a kettle over it to make lovely smoky tea. We would splash about in the river, explore the woods, sing songs and gambol about. Of course, nowadays you can't light a fire and you even have to pay exorbitant fees just to park near the lake. It makes me furious in a way. I went there recently and was so incensed that I had to pay some ridiculous amount of money to only stay one hour (you can't pay by the hour!!) and felt it was like having to pay to get into my own garden. I left in a huff. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1Jt2P3fS5VZxHWj-xd71dBgiGFur8CfK2fpdgHYsL0y3AJpVclgcxfRAwGa0zDMRwKBIN1qUHAcDheQiutb-JMtErhHSJp5Uj6nuqHmgVQRdLxCi-H0WzENM2gYvbuObxvMwc_OZYJZy/s1600/CIMG1417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1Jt2P3fS5VZxHWj-xd71dBgiGFur8CfK2fpdgHYsL0y3AJpVclgcxfRAwGa0zDMRwKBIN1qUHAcDheQiutb-JMtErhHSJp5Uj6nuqHmgVQRdLxCi-H0WzENM2gYvbuObxvMwc_OZYJZy/s320/CIMG1417.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Despite that, Glendalough has to be one of the most wonderful places on this planet. Everyone who goes there feels it. If you spend any real time there, it seeps into you bones and gives you magical dreams. When my mother dies, which might be soon, we have promised to spread her ashes in Glendalough, one of the places she loved the most. I know she will be at peace there and it will make each journey back even more special, knowing that a part of our mother rests in the breezes and ancient mystical nooks there.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinG-pUoIRMFT_VBG7SLYvRRjfAHmKOBFHFNm1fNDp3I3OiXyDBKrhYbG8sk9xsgsOi5AMMB3VI6E9UZxkIxOenkOAdJmbyVdDDVs114a39aQWYtGF3IM53Xt4tubzPI9gohfOI5seY_S_Y/s1600/CIMG1411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinG-pUoIRMFT_VBG7SLYvRRjfAHmKOBFHFNm1fNDp3I3OiXyDBKrhYbG8sk9xsgsOi5AMMB3VI6E9UZxkIxOenkOAdJmbyVdDDVs114a39aQWYtGF3IM53Xt4tubzPI9gohfOI5seY_S_Y/s320/CIMG1411.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river by which we picnicked as children. Take by Maya Oct 2009</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here is a wonderful poem written by <a href="http://www.ornaross.com/">Orna Ross</a> called At Glendalough:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-indent: 36px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At Glendalough</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After walking through the ruins of seven churches</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">head tilting back to look</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to the top </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of the tower that took the round of Kevin’s steeple, </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and jutted it up three times as high, </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from earth to sky</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to mark the ground you walk upon </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">as holy;</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-indent: 36px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">after circling green lake-paths</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that urged you up to top the waterfall, </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">or higher, and being stopped </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and stopped again, </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by sightings of bare mountain </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">dropping sheer, sliced </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by a mesh of rivers and falls emptying </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">all</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">into the two, long lakes </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that somehow take </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">their gush and hold it</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-indent: 36px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">still;</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-indent: 36px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">then you will know </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the allure of here,</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">as of all the places we call sacred,</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is the silence,</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-indent: 36px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you will hear the voice </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of your own blood </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">dropping </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">into the deep.</span></span></div></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-56674499803035276952010-06-11T16:13:00.001-04:002010-06-11T16:14:50.145-04:00Drowning in Fear<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As part of my participation in <a href="http://binduwiles.com/">Bindu Wiles'</a> 21 days of Yoga and writing, we are tasked today with writing about fear. I could write about all kinds of fears and have been ruminating about that all day today. I decided to write about something I am really afraid of that is more external. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Falling into water.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are two separate, or combined, theories about why I am afraid of falling into water. The first one is pre-verbal. I wrote about this in a much earlier post about the death of my brother, called <a href="http://thesoundofthenight.blogspot.com/2009/04/drowning-of-diarmuid.html">The Drowning of Diarmuid</a>. I have no doubt that this affected my twin sister and me on a very deep level as she also has fears around water. We were only about 6 months old when it happened but the trauma of that would have been embedded in our mother's body. sShe was still breast feeding us at the time. How that transfers I don't really understand but there is no doubt in my mind that it did.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNxDplIzuTCw_5NHJ8cp8nlw2nPdh6_LjkKaR4aQZ9CWK7Tb3p3CWm1Z8UDSgird8dADrIX-2PRnIbdc1n7uV7fjS_7tAlOIfyJiRdQABJc0aewj5RKU2gLcrvAMOKetEJl4v82DOa_rl/s1600/learning+to+swim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNxDplIzuTCw_5NHJ8cp8nlw2nPdh6_LjkKaR4aQZ9CWK7Tb3p3CWm1Z8UDSgird8dADrIX-2PRnIbdc1n7uV7fjS_7tAlOIfyJiRdQABJc0aewj5RKU2gLcrvAMOKetEJl4v82DOa_rl/s1600/learning+to+swim.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The second theory is about something that happened to me when I was about 3 and a half. We were living in Cobh, Co. Cork at the time and one day my older sister and her friend took us to Cuskinny, the beach nearby. There were small waves splashing about and I remember we were near a slip. My sister put me sitting in an inner tube from a car, a great flotation device. A wave came and knocked me over so I was upside down in the water with my bum stuck down in the hole of the inner tube. I breathed in a lot of water and when she finally grabbed me and put me upright, I was filled with water and terror. I hated the sensation of water going up my nose and burning and the horrible choking feeling of it. She comforted me as best she could and I don't remember much of what happened after that. The actual event is etched in my memory and gets re-kindled every time I try to get comfortable in water.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhyphenhyphenixIMhvU2xlb0CUt7qxJr2BoGTCzojz-FZCXy1JIUVykDHRL8FLKjwrKl95D04MFL3bxdfyUDVcIBI7AjMKjRX-oH2PcbH6VYMVDkTNFU3akSBED1imPt1XmDad_OAxkHOlURO-uM02/s1600/bayslip1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhyphenhyphenixIMhvU2xlb0CUt7qxJr2BoGTCzojz-FZCXy1JIUVykDHRL8FLKjwrKl95D04MFL3bxdfyUDVcIBI7AjMKjRX-oH2PcbH6VYMVDkTNFU3akSBED1imPt1XmDad_OAxkHOlURO-uM02/s1600/bayslip1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Slip at Cuskinny where I fell in</td></tr>
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The funny part is that I love the sea, lakes, rivers, being on boats and anything to do with water. I just can't bear the thought of falling in. When I was younger and we would go to the beach I would have to tell everyone to please not mess with me in the water as I might drown them in a panic if the pushed me under or played around like that. I found that the more time I spent in water, the less afraid I would get but then another year would go by till it was warm enough to swim again and I would have to start all over again.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-Ai253R_o28nxiItqTKnr7-n2VWhmrg4KBNodGG_uobLx0OORpuCmv5DWcwDflem9p1LhQILiMdEQrv63s2Kgd4vZUjwTruyQ7NmARz5yCtAiaCGeHSCDHKZnalPAt28___5j0oK9MY9/s1600/Diving-off-boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-Ai253R_o28nxiItqTKnr7-n2VWhmrg4KBNodGG_uobLx0OORpuCmv5DWcwDflem9p1LhQILiMdEQrv63s2Kgd4vZUjwTruyQ7NmARz5yCtAiaCGeHSCDHKZnalPAt28___5j0oK9MY9/s320/Diving-off-boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Being out of my depth terrifies me. I did get to a point, when I lived in Sweden, of being able to swim from the metal ladder pinned on a cliff, out into the open sea for a few yards and back, without panicking. But I would often find that I would be going along fine and then panicky thoughts would start and my breathing would tighten and then I would have to rush to grab something as I was sure I was going to sink immediately.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlZGPuwk_gXkQ3CcM79pCEv-d57q_j0agNzDJQtBR9hyphenhyphen0qO9ZkXegTwwrYKoJ_EayHcmOcbrYbwrGhHqLRXSX8qcflsd3aV1tXWt7E3DEIhiqy2KjqVqXG8ohUpDg592FsT6d5M0ttFDf/s1600/underwater+swimming2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlZGPuwk_gXkQ3CcM79pCEv-d57q_j0agNzDJQtBR9hyphenhyphen0qO9ZkXegTwwrYKoJ_EayHcmOcbrYbwrGhHqLRXSX8qcflsd3aV1tXWt7E3DEIhiqy2KjqVqXG8ohUpDg592FsT6d5M0ttFDf/s320/underwater+swimming2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I want to feel</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The one time when I finally felt I was getting somewhere with this fear was with a friend who had an indoor pool. She got me to get goggles that covered my nose too and she showed me how to swim with my head in the water. With my nose covered, my fear of the water going up it and choking me went away. I found I was very comfortable under the water, more so than on top of it! In fact, I was so comfortable that I had an almost irresistible urge to breathe under there. I could see the deep end, all 8 feet of it, further down the pool and it looked perfectly benign. Yet, when I had my head above the water, that 8 foot depth seemed terrifying and dangerous. I even learned to duck dive a bit and loved it. If only I had had more than one day there at her house.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Yr5_0vf0tHYEQ0-q_kfHP1pqfCmuS2rakn33wwPZ1O4yi7MKVL3HtwAfjuS5v-eoV3bQEnqTucjDmIuoe7YNmFATEROwMgyhQ3lIFSgNgP2yuks5OtSNP_GgZEpzgdxE8g2bQ7uy4QCZ/s1600/400px-Front_Crawl_4704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Yr5_0vf0tHYEQ0-q_kfHP1pqfCmuS2rakn33wwPZ1O4yi7MKVL3HtwAfjuS5v-eoV3bQEnqTucjDmIuoe7YNmFATEROwMgyhQ3lIFSgNgP2yuks5OtSNP_GgZEpzgdxE8g2bQ7uy4QCZ/s320/400px-Front_Crawl_4704.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can actually swim, very badly. I would love to find someone with the patience to help me over this fear. I wish so much I could just jump off a boat or a diving board into the water and not be afraid. It would be one of the most liberating things I could imagine.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's on my list of things to do before I die. Hopefully, I won't leave it too much longer. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-90887201417056152372010-06-09T10:50:00.000-04:002010-06-09T10:50:36.298-04:00Tibetan Breakfast and Ethiopian Dinner<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>TIBET</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last Friday, June 4th, my sister, Jacquie and I were invited to have a traditional Tibetan breakfast with old friends of my sister. Their names are Genyen and Tashi Jamyaling (I hope I spelled them correctly). We arrived at their house in the Markham area of Toronto and were ushered into the immaculate living room. All the available wall space had '<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thangka">thankas</a></i>', </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tibet" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none;" title="Tibet"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tibetan</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silk" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; text-decoration: none;" title="Silk"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">silk</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> painting with </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embroidery" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none;" title="Embroidery"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">embroidery</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, usually depicting a </span><a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddhist" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none;" title="Buddhist"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Buddhist</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> deity, famous scene, or </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandala" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: none;" title="Mandala"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mandala</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> of some sort. The room had a really peaceful atmosphere and I had a yen to just sit there but we were ushered into the kitchen where breakfast was being served. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Thanka</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Out in the garden, they had hundreds of prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. They criss-crossed the whole area from the fence on the left to the fence on the right. They were also bright and new so very colourful and eye-catching. Later on we spoke about them.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had heard from Jacquie about Tibetan breakfast but was not sure what to expect. What I really appreciated was that Tashi, the husband, took the time to explain each step to me and showed me how to do things. I have been in many situations with foreign customs where the locals don't know or maybe don't care if you understand what's going on and you flounder around trying not to make a complete ass of yourself. This was the opposite and it made it a lot more fun than I was expecting. I have often felt tense in these situations in case I do something unintentionally rude or stupid. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First they served us '<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsampa">tsampa</a>', a roasted and ground barley flour. It looks just like wheat flour in the bag but the taste is something totally unexpected. The bowl is half filled with tsampa, some dried cheese added and then weak tea is poured on top. You can either mix it all up together to make a thick paste or you can scoop up the tea with a bit of tsampa in each spoonful. I chose to mix it all up and try it that way. I took my first mouthful and was very pleasantly surprised to discover that, rather than being glutinous like wheat, it was dry and nutty. The texture was soft but crunchy from the dried cheese, the flavour somehow benign and relaxing. It reminded me of the feeling of eating porridge, which is always feels gentle and healing. Other than that, the flavour and texture were not like anything I had eaten before.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Makings of Tsampa</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tashi was surprised I liked it so much and then he went to the fridge and brought out a dish of some salsa he had made with tomatoes, onions, coriander and very, very spicy dried yellow chillies that he told us were from only one valley somewhere in India. Not being chicken when it comes to hot and spicy food ( we called it pili-pili growing up, to distinguish from hot heat; our parents both spoke Swahili so that's where that came from!), I took a big spoonful and Tashi showed me how to make balls out of the tsampa and eat it with the salsa. We used our hands for all of this, of course. The salsa was seriously pili-pili I can tell you but, wow, what a flavour. I have noticed that hot chillies tend to do a variety of things in your mouth depending on the type of chilli. This one even made my gum tingle! Despite the tingling and my lips almost going numb, I couldn't stop eating it. It was one of the most delicious things I've eaten in a long time.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On top of that, they served us some of the tofu stew they had had the night before. They were observing a month long vegetarian 'fast' in honour of the Buddha's birthday which, this year, happened to be the day before mine! The stew was also delicious, not spicy at all but very flavourful.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With the whole meal, we drank Tibetan tea, which my sister tells me one gets used to with time. I think she may be right but I still don't really like it. It's buttery and salty. An acquired taste. I must say, though, that it completely suited the rest of the meal.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitatapatra - The White Umbrella</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While we were eating, I asked about the prayer flags in the garden and they told us the story behind these particular ones. I was wondering what the prayer on the flags actually said. It turned out that the prayer covered ten flags before repeating itself. It's called 'Dukgar' in Tibetan or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sitatapatra">Sitatapatra</a> in Hindi, which means White Umbrella and represents the goddess with the thousand arms and thousand heads with small white umbrella at the top. The prayer was used by a Lama in Tibet to help create world peace. According to him, it is the only way we will ever have world peace and we need to spread the word by everyone having the prayer flags in their gardens and back yards. Tashi and Genyen had been at his monastery in Tibet and found him and some other monks laboriously printing the prayer by hand with giant stamps on very low quality material that disintegrated quickly. Tashi approached the organisation he was working for at the time, A German organisation called The Tara Foundation, about funding the mass printing of the flags. He laughed when he told us that the Chinese printers in the nearby town was delighted to take on the job and they did an outstanding job of printing literally millions of flags. On top of that, it turns out that Chinese business people will print anything that they're given very efficiently even if it's totally against Chinese government policy. One man ended up in jail, finally, after printing thousands upon thousands of copies of Tibetan material that the government deemed seditious. Tashi's comment was that the Chinese are so industrious that they are happy to create anything and do it very efficiently, if it will make them money. They don't ask questions. Perhaps they should!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once they had printed the millions of prayer flags, they were flown to the US and other countries and distributed. I love this idea. The thought that this wonderful prayer could help change the world by the wind carrying it up to heaven, is simply beautiful. Tashi and Genyen gave me a set of ten flags to hang in my garden when I get back to Europe. If anyone wants some, let me know. You could make a donation to the cause and get as many as you want.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We left Tashi and Genyen's house feeling replete but very comfortable. I was dying to write this to tell you all about the flags and world peace.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>ETHIOPIA</b></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That night, my sister and my niece, her boyfriend and my nephew were taking me out for my birthday. We had intended to go to one place on Queen St but ended up at <a href="http://www.addisababa.ca/default.asp">Addis Ababa</a>, an Ethiopian restaurant. I had wanted to eat Ethiopian food since I got here as I have missed it. The restaurant was expecting a huge group of 40 people so we were put on the stage area at the front and told that a band was arriving at 9pm so we might have to move.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For anyone who hasn't eaten Ethiopian food let me explain a bit about it. They make a bread called Injera which is made from barley and teff, a grain grown only in certain areas of Ethiopia. The dough is fermented and then the bread is cooked something like a pancake. The bread is spread out on a big dish and the various recipes you order are laid out on the bread. You use the bread as the utensil to pick up the food. A lot of Ethiopian food is spicy but not all of it. The whole meal was delicious. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At 9pm, we moved to another table and the place was packed to the gills. They then brought us the traditional coffee. First they arrive with coffee beans roasting on a small tray and they waft it around the table. They disappear off with that and come back later with a pot of coffee made from those beans, some small glasses and sugar and an incense burner with frankincense smoking. The smell of frankincense is, of course, familiar to people who go to Mass or other churches so it gives the whole experience the sense of ritual. Some people across from us were intensely curious about what was going on and one of them came over to ask what the smell was. It's very enticing. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A great day with so many culinary experiences. One I won't forget in a long time.</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-80577965274079527492010-05-25T15:59:00.000-04:002010-05-25T15:59:38.430-04:00Dinner with a Narcissist<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last Saturday, my sister had organised for two pairs of her friends to meet up with the potential to create a new friendship. The other idea was that one of the couples owns a boat and the other couple miss sailing so, all being well, they could sail together.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My sister went all out, buying beautiful fish to grill and making fabulous salads. I helped her by taking loads of broad beans out of their pods, making a roasted yellow and red pepper salad with anchovies and generally being the sous-chef. We prepared most of it at home and then transported it to her friends' house in downtown Toronto. </span><br />
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This couple are in their late 60s and quite wealthy. They had spent 15 years living on a yacht sailing in the Mediterranean and were missing sailing now they were back in Toronto. I had met them briefly at the opera a few weeks earlier and noted that the husband was the sort of man who makes bad jokes when he's uncomfortable. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We arrived at about 6pm and started to organise the food. I then went out and joined the husband who had made us each a martini (a very good one it was too). It turned out he was a fount of information about the history of Toronto and I really enjoyed learning all of this. I thought it would turn into a lovely evening of good conversation and new friendship.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">About 7pm, the other couple arrived. I'll call them T&M. Immediately, the wife, M, noticed we had had martinis and I thought it was pretty clear that she wanted one too but our host chose not to hear that and served us all a glass of champagne. Our host had that week had eyelid surgery to correct a problem where his upper lids were starting to droop so much they were obscuring his vision. He looked a bit like he'd been through a few rounds in a boxing ring. As it happened, the husband, T, is a doctor who works ringside at boxing matches on occasion. He make a quick joke to our host about his eyes. All seemed well.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We sat down to dinner after crackers and cheese, champagne and get-to-know-you-chat. All very nice. Jacquie and our hostess dished up the food while I stayed at the table joining in the conversation.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a while, it became more and more apparent that our host loved the sound of his own voice and was starting to usurp the conversation and making it all about him and his exploits, experience and knowledge. Indeed, he is knowledgeable and was interesting before the dinner when the drinks had not yet started to flow. As the dinner wore on, it was getting harder and harder for anyone else to get a word in edgewise.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was sitting beside T, an older man, clearly warm and thoughtful who exuded a curious sex appeal, despite his bulk. Our host somehow brought up the subject of a well known impresario in Toronto who, after years of enormous success, had been found to be a swindler and who had extorted large sums of money from various sources. Our host had had dealings with him and his business in earlier times when he, our host, had been in investment banking. He took some pleasure in describing to us how he and his company had taken this extortioner for a financial ride. At one point in the conversation he referred to this swindler as 'tall'. Immediately, T&M broke into the conversation to refute that. Being a neophyte in the world of Toronto social life, I had heard a bit about the swindler from my sister before this dinner. I noticed right away that the way T&M were refuting our hosts statement that the man was 'tall' had an air of insider knowledge.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually, T managed to get a chance to say something and told our host that this swindler had been intimately involved in business with T's father! At that point, it was clear that our host had trampled on T's sensibilities. Well, it was clear to me, to T, to my sister and to T's wife. It was not clear to our host and hostess, however, as our host launched into another long story about the swindler and his character while also mentioning a certain cabinet minister by referring to her as 'fat Eleanor'. At this point, I could feel T bristling beside me. He sighed, huffed quietly to himself and was clearly about to walk out the door. What stopped him, I don't know. Politeness, I would imagine.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually, after having to sit through another half an hour of our host's monologue and dismissal of anything T or his wife said, T got up, ostensibly to go to the lavatory and, when he came back out, signaled to his wife that it was time to go. I could feel their relief.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After their goodbyes, all seemingly amicable to the hosts, our hostess said, while smiling at her husband, that he should have realised when T said that the swindler had been a close friend of his father's, that it was time to shut up. Our host replied that he felt he could say what he wanted about anything he liked and didn't much care if anyone was bothered by it. As my sister and I were trying to leave, he started to tell us horrendous Irish jokes, in a Hollywood brogue...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The next day, we called M to see how T had taken the whole thing. She laughed about it but said that her husband as appalled at out host's lack of sensitivity and his boorishness and it would be a cold day in hell before he would invite the man onto his boat. Then, it got even funnier. It turned out that 'fat Eleanor' was a relation of Ted's too! We laughed about it but both my sister and I were disturbed by what had happened. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later that day, the hostess came over to pick up some medicine for her husband and we discussed the previous evening as she was leaving. We had both thought that she was coming over to have a debrief about it. When we told her that 'fat Eleanor' was a relation of T's she laughed about it. She seemed to have very little understanding of the impact her husband had had on poor T and M, let alone me and my sister. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was only later, while deconstructing the evening, that it became clear that she had to do that in order to survive living with a consummate narcissist and alcoholic. I had wondered, at the time, why she had done nothing to stop her husband's headlong assault of his guests. How she coped living on a yacht with him for 15 years is anyone's guess.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is clear to me that this man is deeply insecure, despite his intellect and experience. He makes bad jokes to cover his discomfort and then rules the conversation and doesn't give a damn about anyone else's feelings or opinions. The classic narcissist. Very sad really as he has a lot to offer.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Needless to say, T&M won't be seeing them again any time soon.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-34665018899229203342010-05-16T15:34:00.000-04:002010-05-16T15:34:48.442-04:00Growing Old Disgracefully - The Only Way to Live<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As many of you know, I am currently in Toronto with my oldest sister, Jacquie. She lives in a nice apartment not far from the centre of the city in an area with lots of restaurants and shops so there's plenty to do. I have slowly adjusted to life here and the different rhythms, all of which have been immensely good for my general mental and physical well being.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jacquie and I seem to fit well together - despite having only lived together briefly when I was a child as she left home when I was 9 and had spent much of the previous years at University and working. We knew we had a lot of common interests and have spent many short stays with each other over the years; when I was living in California I used to come to Toronto fairly often and stay a few days; Jacquie has met up with me in California, New Orleans, Spain and Morocco on occasion and we've always had a great time.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SZ_ifq-Lt70sHtJ8cUCpVMw6XphpDGy9-2wk7wyfp1926-AhOXLhCsRdmxE-WHDrWe1GTuwXngU4Ub3rhka7MfIXgTx5rQo9sp1CTFqFyoe4euHnHbTVTuqmgW5lOKEpcia_hYYWuZOF/s1600/Copy+of+CIMG1776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SZ_ifq-Lt70sHtJ8cUCpVMw6XphpDGy9-2wk7wyfp1926-AhOXLhCsRdmxE-WHDrWe1GTuwXngU4Ub3rhka7MfIXgTx5rQo9sp1CTFqFyoe4euHnHbTVTuqmgW5lOKEpcia_hYYWuZOF/s320/Copy+of+CIMG1776.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Jacquie, my wonderful sister</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We imagined we would work well together in close quarters and, indeed, that's how it's turned out to be. We both have a similar sense of order and similar rhythms with food. We both wanted to lose weight and get more healthy and fit so we eat very carefully and well and we go for long walks in the nearby ravines. We've been to operas and concerts, dinners and explorations, museums and shopping. We have enjoyed it all together.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We laugh a lot, play Sudoku (although I have to make sure not to leave my Sudoku book in the bathroom as she's quite likely to steal it and finish the one I was working on!), watch First Talk, a TV program made for the aboriginal community in Canada or The National, Canada's main news program. Jacquie is a news junkie so the radio is on every morning and we can barely speak to each other at breakfast as she is riveted by whatever they're talking about. So I read the Globe and Mail. I now know more about Canadian politics than I do about Irish politics, something I have to remedy when I get back to Ireland.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the whole, you can tell, we're very well behaved and responsible people. Last night I went out to dinner with my niece, Sinead, who treated me to a wonderful all-you-can-eat sushi meal nearby. We solved all the world's problems and then I walked home to close out my email and head to bed. Jacquie had gone over to her friend Marie's for dinner. At midnight, I switched off my light and drifted off to sleep. I woke up a 1am and saw that the light was still on in the hall, which meant Jacquie wasn't home yet. Oh well, they must be having a nice time but it is quite late, I thought. I drifted off again and woke up at 2.30 and she was still not home! Now, I was getting worried. She and Marie are in their 60s so I was having a hard time imagining them staying up till all hours. I tried her phone but, as usual, she either did not hear it or the sound was switched off. I didn't know what to do. I stayed awake for a while worrying and then decided that I would give a bit more time. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I woke up again at 4.30am and went to the loo and saw she was home at last so went back to bed and slept in as I had not had a restful night. In the morning, I could see the funny side. She was very apologetic but also giggling about a) that I was worrying about her and how nice that was and b) how it was like worrying about a pair of teenagers who had gone out and not said when they'd be home.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once I got over my worry, I thought how marvelous it was that two women of a certain age, intelligent and full of beans, were staying up till 4am, talking about life, the universe and how to solve the problems of the world, all the time taking small nips of brandy. It's nice to know you're never too old to stay up late, drinking and talking and generally behaving disgracefully (by some people's measurements anyway!). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had a great laugh over the whole thing and now I know, if she's not home by 4am, not to worry. She said she's hoping she's still doing it in her 80s. Right on,sister!</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-17868198092952107392010-05-14T17:00:00.000-04:002010-05-14T17:00:24.628-04:00Maya, Maya and Warriors<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday, I was trawling around the web, doing some research on my father for my memoir, Silence and the Black Wolf. I thought I might find something interesting someone had said about him. Mostly, I found what I always find, site after site with listings of his mostly out of print books. I decided to go a little further on Google and go past the 2nd or 3rd page of the search. It was worth the effort.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found <a href="http://www.mayaalexandri.com/">Maya Alexandri</a>. I saw my father's name mentioned in the search blurb and wondered who she might be. What I discovered, on her blog, was that she has written not one, but two pieces about my father's book, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Warriors-Life-Death-Among-Somalis/dp/0907871836/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1273869027&sr=1-1">Warriors</a>. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maya Alexandri</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Warriors was originally part of a bigger book called Warriors and Strangers. One part was about his time in Somalia in WWII and the other part about going back to Kenya after many years away. After his death, it was re-published but only with the section about Somalia. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4nuH5IbTvTM2GDzn79ZTTtC6jUgyFvchL5L0g5LldySONj8rTygzG4FDE24_YGr9DgAc8_qPkL8Gl7viDcuaHq8Qspaub8OZmk7jfVniUO_WKG8uOTagFBOLuwsumoJKEfL2G-tXyP9Q/s1600/Gerald_Hanley_by_John_Huston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4nuH5IbTvTM2GDzn79ZTTtC6jUgyFvchL5L0g5LldySONj8rTygzG4FDE24_YGr9DgAc8_qPkL8Gl7viDcuaHq8Qspaub8OZmk7jfVniUO_WKG8uOTagFBOLuwsumoJKEfL2G-tXyP9Q/s320/Gerald_Hanley_by_John_Huston.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gerald Hanley drawn by John Huston, dedicated to my twin, Una</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I read the blog post with great interest. It was well thought through and well written. The gist of it was that whenever she reads books that describe fascinating but awful places, she immediately wants to go there. Indeed, Warriors describes Somalia after the British had taken over from the Italians. It was not a place anyone would want to be. His descriptions of the privations they suffered; not getting their rations, cigarettes, alcohol and food for weeks on end and how that affected the 'askaris'. He describes an almost mutiny when they don't get their monthly ghee ration. During the time he was there, 7 of his fellow officers committed suicide. That said, his description of the place, the people, the suffering, the grandeur is riveting. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyk0ayCx6pgRheWjss-tckesSGhtBzyhQrrFLrMQLaRtYTpe9TD9bumetQ8pujW-kT9qXGUl3FNOeDCiZNYnsaI9jj72aMblQreCXcyo7vYAgBH-lo7RUiAHQUZQbB3A3BZbG1X0v4ook/s1600/Somalia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyk0ayCx6pgRheWjss-tckesSGhtBzyhQrrFLrMQLaRtYTpe9TD9bumetQ8pujW-kT9qXGUl3FNOeDCiZNYnsaI9jj72aMblQreCXcyo7vYAgBH-lo7RUiAHQUZQbB3A3BZbG1X0v4ook/s1600/Somalia.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Warriors is also a book about colonialism and the paternalistic attitude of the coloniser towards the colonised. It is a damning indictment of what colonialism has done in Africa. If anyone wants to know why Somalia is in the state it's in now, read Warriors. In fact, it should be mandatory reading for anyone thinking of invading another country.( You know who you are!)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wrote to Maya. First of all, her name is Maya. That caught my attention. Then, her surname is Alexandri. All you have to do is add and 'a' to the end and you have the city of my grandmother's birth. She's a writer, someone who gave up a law career to pursue her dreams. When I wrote to her, I thought she was in Beijing. This morning I got an email response from her. You'll never guess where she is now, writing another book. Kenya. The coincidences are piling up here.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mother was born and raised in Nairobi. She lived there till she was 36. My father spent from 1934 to the outbreak of WWII there and was then posted to Somalia and later to Burma. My two sisters lived there till they were 10 and 12. My father has written several books about Kenya, novels mostly.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love synchronicity like this. I sat here this morning wondering what it might mean. I am pretty sure it does mean something but I don't know what. Why has my path crossed hers? Why has she written two pieces on Warriors? Two very thoughtful pieces. Here they are:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.mayaalexandri.com/mayas_blog/2010/04/ready-for-the-shovel.html">Ready for the Shovel</a> and <a href="http://www.mayaalexandri.com/mayas_blog/2010/04/of-wisdom-and-imperial-ambivalence.html">Of Wisdom and Imperial Ambivalence</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have not gone any further into her site yet but it looks like she's written about a lot of authors. Her own novels have not been published yet, despite DM Thomas personally helping her with her first one. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">More and more, events and research are leading me back to Kenya. It's highly likely that Maya and I might meet there next year. Wouldn't that be interesting?</span><br />
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</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-66856740182122048432010-05-13T13:47:00.000-04:002010-05-13T13:47:55.209-04:00Living in Toronto<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 17px;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOajXndKMxSaYc0Yar_DIy70-ff3IZ7CeZPfOYU9Wt8taVqFyY8gfDesnws1baA6uvAy6COhXeu7dBBKmq1Gs0Bxng6xI1JUPCFxmJlMLJp8Hrdis-mK4NSuwhtxeRVxhAlYiYh-9Yzch6/s1600/CIMG1763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOajXndKMxSaYc0Yar_DIy70-ff3IZ7CeZPfOYU9Wt8taVqFyY8gfDesnws1baA6uvAy6COhXeu7dBBKmq1Gs0Bxng6xI1JUPCFxmJlMLJp8Hrdis-mK4NSuwhtxeRVxhAlYiYh-9Yzch6/s320/CIMG1763.JPG" /></a></div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I've been here now since March 15th. I've done more socializing here in two months that in two years in Dublin. My sister has an active social life revolving around museums, theatre, opera and various esoteric things. I have had to finally say that I need to focus on my writing but the call of the social life is strong!</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Toronto is a wonderful city. It has a huge series of ravines going right through the middle of it which gives the city an area for hiking and exploring second to none. When you're down in one of the ravines, you forget you're in a city for a while. One day, we were walking the Moore Park ravine close to where we live. The trees were in full leaf although still almost fluorescent green and very juicy and alive looking. Suddenly, a deep rumbling started from somewhere and got louder and louder. I could not imagine with it was as I looked through the trees to see what it might be. It sounded like an tornado arriving or perhaps a VERY large animal. It turned out to be a train! High above us was a bridge. We had to strain our necks to look up, it was that high. The train rumbled over, a reminder that we were indeed in a city. I had noticed the bases of the bridge when we had walked past earlier but had not looked up and registered how amazingly high above us it was. The colour of the pillars blended in with the browns and greens in the woods so it was easy to even miss the whole thing.</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Toronto is the most culturally diverse city in the world. I can really see that. I meet people off all hues, religions, walks of life here. It is so different to the US. For starters, I don't get asked every day where I'm from and then have the rapturous response to my saying I'm Irish. No one events comments on my accent. I must say, it's nice to blend in and not be the topic of a ten minute conversation every time I meet someone new! Having an accent here is not seen as strange since most people have some sort of 'foreign' accent.</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">The Canadians are also very friendly and helpful. I walked to the supermarket the other day to get some groceries. I had a small backpack on to carry the purchases and, when I arrived at the apartment again, I discovered that I had lost my key wallet with my ATM card and my cash, as well as the organic broccoli I had just got for dinner. I raced back to the market, praying all the way that some kind person might have picked up my wallet and keys, especially. The guy giving out samples of something at the door said he hadn't seen it. I was on my way in to the cashier and mentioned that I had also dropped my broccoli and he said 'Oh, was that you? We put that back on the shelf'. The cashier recognised me right away and said she had my wallet and keys. She had tried to get my attention as I was leaving but had a big queue of people to contend with and couldn't leave her station. She very kindly took me to get my broccoli back too!</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Small gestures like that gladden the heart. They were all as friendly as the Irish are supposedly famous for. </div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I took the subway for the first time last week. It was easy, fast, clean and not very crowded. Imagine that! </div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I love that you can find just about anything here. Any kind of food, clothing, art, books, information. The huge mix of nationalities means that the whole world is at your feet here. I am only scratching the surface of course and hope to have more interesting things to write about as the months go by.</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgb(245, 247, 247) !important; color: black !important; font: normal normal normal 11px/160% Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">This evening we're out for Japanese food with my niece and nephew and other friends. Another lovely evening to look forward to. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7919648789846122436.post-59926288926725938542010-04-30T14:25:00.000-04:002010-04-30T14:25:21.735-04:00A Day in the Life<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday, I saw that the original handwritten lyrics of <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/8652153.stm">A Day in the Life</a>, by John Lennon, were to go on sale. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a bit spooky seeing John Lennon's handwriting, talking about Tara Browne. 'He blew his mind out in a car'. Tara was the younger brother of The Honourable Garech Browne, one of the Guinness heirs and the owner of <a href="http://www.luggala.net/">Luggala</a>,a magical hideaway in the Wicklow Mountains. Garech was one of my father's closest friends and has, in recent years, become a close friend of mine too. I go to Luggala as often as I can when I'm in Ireland, for lunches and dinners. I finally got to spend the night there a few times last year, which meant I got to sign the famous guest book. It's filled with signatures, poems, photos and mementos of all the people, a lot of them very well known, who have stayed at Luggala over the last maybe 30 years. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urprzp2UeUI/S9sd31j4iQI/AAAAAAAAA5w/M3S2E3nfOq4/s1600/Garech%20and%20Luggala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urprzp2UeUI/S9sd31j4iQI/AAAAAAAAA5w/M3S2E3nfOq4/s1600/Garech%20and%20Luggala.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garech in front of Luggala (courtesy of The Telegraph)</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I drive down the steep hill to the house, I always pass the <a href="http://www.luggala.net/index_files/PhotoTheTemple.htm">monument</a> to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tara_Browne">Tara Browne</a>. It makes me sad every time because I know how much it still affects Garech to this day. The loss of his brother was probably the worst thing that has happened to him. A sensitive, highly intelligent man, he opens his heart to those he loves and I feel treasured when I am there. I also know how much he loved my father. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When my father died in 1992, Garech invited all of us to Luggala on the Sunday after the funeral. At Luggala, we all signed a whole 2 pages of the famous guest book, writing poems and messages about our father for Garech. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After that,we all had lunch together in The Roundwood Inn, with Ronan Browne (no relation)playing the Uilleann pipes for us and lots of laughter, tears and reminiscing. We didn't know we were supposed to be at John Boorman's house that afternoon too and ended up arriving very late. John wasn't too happy with Garech, whose sense of time can disappear as the drinks start to flow! I remember well coming into the kitchen and meeting Marianne Faithful who told me that she had fancied my father in a big way, even when he was old and sick with cancer. I know he had that effect on people. His charisma was extraordinary. He had a deep voice and told wonderful stories, keeping people gripped to the wee hours of the morning. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, a portrait of my father hangs in the master bedroom at Luggala, painted by <a href="http://www.anthonypalliser.com/?lang=en&mID=1">Anthony Pallise</a>r. In it, he looks rather ravaged. What none of us knew at that point was that he had lung cancer, brought on by 60 years of smoking. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I met Anthony recently at Luggala and he told me that my father had been one of his favourite people. It was nice to hear that, after almost 20 years, he is still so well remembered. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urprzp2UeUI/S9sfEyo4xQI/AAAAAAAAA50/NLTnRp2TQb4/s1600/Gerry-Hanley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_urprzp2UeUI/S9sfEyo4xQI/AAAAAAAAA50/NLTnRp2TQb4/s320/Gerry-Hanley.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gerald Hanley by Anthony Palliser</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another weekend, I discovered that this master bedroom had been the room that Michael Jackson slept in while he hid away in Ireland with his children. It made me laugh, thinking about my father looking down on Michael Jackson as he slept! A ghostly degree of separation. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tara Browne's children were very small when he died. I met his son, Julian, recently. He lives in Hawaii now. A long way away from inevitable complications of a distinguished and complex family.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope that the sale of this original piece of writing by John Lennon doesn't make Garech too sad. I hate to see him sad. He's a luminous and sensitive man. I don't think he knows how much he is loved by his friends. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=5"></script></div>Maya's Storieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16770374406844571860noreply@blogger.com3