Meet My Shadow

For my baby...

2012-01-23T19:16:00.000-05:00

It’s that last moment before bed, when you’ve finished your bottle and we’ve read your Quran and I’m standing up to put you down into your crib, that last moment when I’m holding you around your chubby little waist and I pull you in for a kiss and tell you “tisbah ‘ala kheir’, that I want to last forever. No matter how tired I am, no matter what kind of day it’s been, that kiss on your cheek is never enough, that moment always, always ends too quickly.

And you’re starting to squirm, even now, when I prolong it. When my lips don’t leave your cheek in sufficient time, when I go for a third, or a fourth, or a fifth. You know your routine: the room is dark, we’ve drank our milk, we’ve said our dua, don’t confuse me, Mama, I think now it’s time to sleep. But this is when I ache with my love for you. This is when I don’t know if I’ll be able to bear it to put you down, while you’re still so warm and so soft and so pudgy in my arms, while I’ve forgotten that you whined while we made dinner, or smacked me in the face, albeit playfully, while we sang and clapped.

And then when you wake up at 2 a.m., I think to myself, “Dear God, sleep, Child!” and yet, right at bed time, I wish I could freeze time and stay standing there, suspended above your crib, holding you, rocking you, kissing your delicious little face with your fat little cheeks and your dimpled chin and your extra rolls of adorable. I wish I could freeze it and stay in that moment, just you and me and our love, before you want to run away, before you’re focused on impressing someone else, before you talk back and try to escape your homework, before life.

In Memory of Jack

2011-08-23T20:31:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, Canada lost one of our best and most caring politicians, NDP leader Jack Layton, to cancer. A couple of days before his death, Jack wrote this letter, which he left to Canadians. It's a beautiful and inspiring piece. And, just as Jack said, let's be hopeful:

August 20, 2011

Toronto, Ontario

Dear Friends,

Tens of thousands of Canadians have written to me in recent weeks to wish me well. I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughtful, inspiring and often beautiful notes, cards and gifts. Your spirit and love have lit up my home, my spirit, and my determination.

Unfortunately my treatment has not worked out as I hoped. So I am giving this letter to my partner Olivia to share with you in the circumstance in which I cannot continue.

I recommend that Hull-Aylmer MP Nycole Turmel continue her work as our interim leader until a permanent successor is elected.

I recommend the party hold a leadership vote as early as possible in the New Year, on approximately the same timelines as in 2003, so that our new leader has ample time to reconsolidate our team, renew our party and our program, and move forward towards the next election.

A few additional thoughts:

To other Canadians who are on journeys to defeat cancer and to live their lives, I say this: please don’t be discouraged that my own journey hasn’t gone as well as I had hoped. You must not lose your own hope. Treatments and therapies have never been better in the face of this disease. You have every reason to be optimistic, determined, and focused on the future. My only other advice is to cherish every moment with those you love at every stage of your journey, as I have done this summer.

To the members of my party: we’ve done remarkable things together in the past eight years. It has been a privilege to lead the New Democratic Party and I am most grateful for your confidence, your support, and the endless hours of volunteer commitment you have devoted to our cause. There will be those who will try to persuade you to give up our cause. But that cause is much bigger than any one leader. Answer them by recommitting with energy and determination to our work. Remember our proud history of social justice, universal health care, public pensions and making sure no one is left behind. Let’s continue to move forward. Let’s demonstrate in everything we do in the four years before us that we are ready to serve our beloved Canada as its next government.

To the members of our parliamentary caucus: I have been privileged to work with each and every one of you. Our caucus meetings were always the highlight of my week. It has been my role to ask a great deal from you. And now I am going to do so again. Canadians will be closely watching you in the months to come. Colleagues, I know you will make the tens of thousands of members of our party proud of you by demonstrating the same seamless teamwork and solidarity that has earned us the confidence of millions of Canadians in the recent election.

To my fellow Quebecers: On May 2nd, you made an historic decision. You decided that the way to replace Canada’s Conservative federal government with something better was by working together in partnership with progressive-minded Canadians across the country. You made the right decision then; it is still the right decision today; and it will be the right decision right through to the next election, when we will succeed, together. You have elected a superb team of New Democrats to Parliament. They are going to be doing remarkable things in the years to come to make this country better for us all.

To young Canadians: All my life I have worked to make things better. Hope and optimism have defined my political career, and I continue to be hopeful and optimistic about Canada. Young people have been a great source of inspiration for me. I have met and talked with so many of you about your dreams, your frustrations, and your ideas for change. More and more, you are engaging in politics because you want to change things for the better. Many of you have placed your trust in our party. As my time in political life draws to a close I want to share with you my belief in your power to change this country and this world. There are great challenges before you, from the overwhelming nature of climate change to the unfairness of an economy that excludes so many from our collective wealth, and the changes necessary to build a more inclusive and generous Canada. I believe in you. Your energy, your vision, your passion for justice are exactly what this country needs today. You need to be at the heart of our economy, our political life, and our plans for the present and the future.

And finally, to all Canadians: Canada is a great country, one of the hopes of the world. We can be a better one – a country of greater equality, justice, and opportunity. We can build a prosperous economy and a society that shares its benefits more fairly. We can look after our seniors. We can offer better futures for our children. We can do our part to save the world’s environment. We can restore our good name in the world. We can do all of these things because we finally have a party system at the national level where there are real choices; where your vote matters; where working for change can actually bring about change. In the months and years to come, New Democrats will put a compelling new alternative to you. My colleagues in our party are an impressive, committed team. Give them a careful hearing; consider the alternatives; and consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together. Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

All my very best,

Jack Layton

This'll be the day that I die..

2011-05-31T23:04:00.001-04:00

If you like lipdubs, you will love this. And this is the first time I listened to the words of this song beyond the chorus. Rather melancholy, no?

The one in which baby acts like a bobblehead doll and also has a bald spot

2011-03-21T13:42:00.000-04:00

When Baby D was born, one of the mos noticeable things about him was his full head of black hair. It was everywhere on his head, beautiful and thick. Each nurse would note it when she came in to check on us or take his temperature.
After a few weeks though, it started thinning all over his head except right on top, so that soon he was down to a faux-hawk... Now, I've heard that babies often lose the hair they're born with, and that eventually it gets replaced with their "real" hair, so basically, you don't know if the colour or texture is going to stay the same. I've also heard that sometimes they're totally bald in between the two stages, and other times the old hair is falling out while the new hair is growing in, so you can't really tell it's happening.
All I know now is that, after thinning out for some time, Baby D's hair has been seeming to grow back in for the last three weeks or so. Of course, when you spend as much time, continuously, looking at something or someone, you usually can't see the change. It's like trying to figure out on a day-by-day basis if you're gaining or losing weight. It's basically impossible. So, while the hair on the sides of his head is maybe-sort-of growing back in, the hair on the back of his head is gone gone gone!
That's right ladies and gents. Baby D has a bald spot. It's not on the top, it's right on the back of his head. It's what my older sister lovingly refers to as a "pillow spot" and is apparently common with babies who sleep on their backs (which is basically the safe way for all babies to sleep)... Until they start sitting up, a lot of babies spend so much time on their backs that they essentially rub their heads clean of any hair there. Of course, the truly hilarious aspect of all of this is that he has hair again at the nape of his neck, so it looks like a really hilarious rat tale situation. I call his hair situation "the reverse mullet": it's party in the front, business in the back (and then a rat tale - heheh).
The other hilarious thing about him now is the bobblehead situation. While he learns to hold his head up, he's in this in-between stage where he seems to think he's a bobblehead. If he's sitting, he's bobbling constantly. I've seen this with all babies I know passing through his age and stage, so you'd think I'd get used to it, but instead, it never ceases to amuse and amaze me.
So, I have a balding, bobble-headed little man to take care of. And I couldn't be happier :)

From the Mouths of Babes (part 4)

2011-03-21T13:40:00.004-04:00

This one comes to you from the UAE, courtesy of Abu Dhabi Angel.
The setting:
Angel is watching a program on TV in which they are eating hot dogs. At the same time, Abu Dhabi Mama is cooking burgers in the kitchen.

Angel (in utter amazement): "Mama, I can smell the food from the tv!"

Ode to Skype

2011-03-14T19:28:00.002-04:00

About a year and a half ago, I wrote this very frustrated post about a skype catch-22 wherein M and I lost our credit and couldn't call our family in Egypt. Well, since that time, I've become a super avid Skype user, and I felt they deserved a much-love shout out right here. It's only fair, since I took them to task when they were making me unhappy.

Ode to Skype:

My sisters live two airplanes away
timezones, miles, landmass and oceans between us
hours of sleep and waking upside down
or inside out
Days and nights reversed
Lives inverted

My sisters who
shared my room
whispered late into
the night with me
were the cause of my drowsy eyes
at the kitchen table
my sleepy smile

My sisters who know my secrets
who keep me grounded and help me fly
who giggle better, hug better, bake better, tease better
than anyone I know
My sisters who gave me
the nieces and nephews
I long for all year
who keep me counting down to summers together
when we can laugh at the kitchen table
over breakfast, eyes half open
bleary but dragged to life by the kids
who slept at eight

But
until the kitchen table
until the hugs in person
until the wiping off each others' tears
I see them through the screen
the kids running to and from the computer
voices ringing with excitement
saying hi to their cousins
cooing at babies
shouting to be heard over the din
of all the voices

and the kitchen table spans three continents
an ocean
twelve hours worth of timezones
(some for breakfast, some for supper)
and we're still together
despite the world of bustle in between.

Of Grocery Shopping and Cake Baking

2011-03-06T16:41:00.000-05:00

It's really very hard to believe that I've already been off work for three months. I started Mat leave on December 3rd, and when I think about what I've been doing with my time "off", I have to remember to change my perspective significantly...
Left t0 my old ways of thinking, it's tempting to say 'I have nothing to show for the last three months', but, uh, HELLO, I have a two and a half month old baby to show for it! And that's what I mean by a shift in perspective. Because after you've spent your whole life in school, followed by 6 years at an office job, you measure productivity by deliverables. For as long as I can remember, I've had something to submit: homework assignments, first drafts, book reports, lab results, presentations, standard operating procedures, flow charts, meeting minutes, work tickets... The list goes on and on and on.
This project though, the one I'm working on write now, project Little Boy, is not "deliverable based". I don't get to submit Dude to anyone for evaluation every two weeks. I don't file a report nightly ('today Dude slept 10 hours and was awake 14 hours. He had 8 diaper changes, 10 feedings and a bath. He spent one hour being burped, one hour in his baby swing, and 15 minutes doing tummy time. He looked at me and laughed 7 separate times. He cried 12 separate times.')
No, Dude-raising is a long term project, a VERY, long term project, and while there are milestones by which I can assess how I'm doing, there are also a million little repetitive tasks that fill up the day before I add anything extra, like, say, cooking, or laundry.
Still, on the one hand, though my tasks now never end and my time isn't mine any longer, on the other hand, my schedule is as open-ended as it's ever been. At this age for Little Dude, so long as he's fed, burped, changed and warm, he really doesn't care about anything else. And so I can decide at 1:30 pm that I will do some grocery shopping at 2, or bake a cake on the fly, or try a new recipe I've never made and spend 40 minutes going through the store aisles painstakingly searching for ingredients. I can spend all day reading a book while I feed, burp, wrap, and rock the Little Dude. And that is what I have to show for the last three months, because soon this stage will be over: he'll be crawling or teething or talking or going to playgroups and my schedule will be tied down again, and 2 a.m. will no longer be the same as 2 pm., so I'm enjoying it while it lasts...

An interesting video....

2011-03-04T16:37:00.001-05:00

I really quite enjoyed this little video by the folks at National Geographic. Take a look...

Abu Dhabi Baby Angel Update

2011-03-04T16:36:00.001-05:00

Stop the presses! Start the baby-proofing! Baby-boy is crawling!!

From the Mouths of Babes (or actually second graders: part 3)

2011-02-28T15:15:00.000-05:00

When my mom was still here in January, Cali Angela, who's now 7 years old, would call often to chat with her Grandma, and check up on Little Dude. Cali Angela's pretty used to having her grandparents around for a couple of months every winter, and the fact that she was Grandma-less meant that she spent a great deal of her phone calls to us devising ways in which we could all go down to Sacramento and visit her and her family, instead of the current arrangement wherein we were all in Montreal, so far, which made no sense at all.
During one of these phone calls, M had just come home, and she was explaining to the rest of us that we should come with the phone on speaker when she heard him enter. After saying "salaam" to him and filling him in on her brilliant travel plans, he broke it to her gently.
"The problem is that I have work, so I wouldn't be able to come to California".
"That's not a problem," Cali Angela replied, un-phased. "My dad goes to work every day. You could just go with him."

Oh Angela, if only it were that simple...

From the Mouths of Babes (part 2)

2011-02-26T15:09:00.002-05:00

This little gem comes to you courtesy of Dubai Angel, whose name is now Abu Dhabi Angel, thanks to their move to the UAE Capital this year. Abu Dhabi Angel is now 3 (like his little cousin, Cali Angel), and an avid cook who follows his mother into the kitchen every chance he gets, planning to help her in whatever meal she's about to make.
My sister tells me that the other day, they were all out shopping at a mall, and passed a store with a set of pots and pans in the window display:
Abu Dhabi Angel stopped dead in his tracks and called her back over, his voice extra excited:
"Mama!" he said, "when I grow up and get married, I want you to bring me right back to this store, so I can buy this set of pots and pans, so I can cook for my wife!"

Ha! Here's hoping he remembers this when he does get married, because if he does, right now there's a little girl out there who's going to be VERY happy some time in the future.

From The Mouths of Babes (or should I say preschoolers)

2011-01-19T19:19:00.002-05:00

The latest and greatest tidbit from the youngest Cali-Angel...
Grandpa is currently there visiting, and he and our youngest Cali-Angel have many opportunities for bonding (Grandpa drives him to preschool everyday, so that car time is just for them). The kids are used to seeing both my mom and dad together when they go to visit, but right now of course, my mom is preoccupied with the newest grandchild here in Montreal, aka, my son "Little Dude".
So what does Cali-Angel, now a glorious 3 and a half years old, say upon seeing his grandfather at the beginning of this latest visit?
"Hi Geddo (Grandpa). Where's your friend Teta (Grandma)"?

Ha!

A Great (and Scary) Article

2011-01-15T14:28:00.003-05:00

My friend posted a link to this on Facebook and I had to share. So worth your while to read. Great, great piece of investigative journalism, and something to consider before you take your next prescription pill:

"Prescription drugs kill some 200,000 Americans every year. Will that number go up, now that most clinical trials are conducted overseas—on sick Russians, homeless Poles, and slum-dwelling Chinese—in places where regulation is virtually nonexistent, the F.D.A. doesn’t reach, and “mistakes” can end up in pauper’s graves? The authors investigate the globalization of the pharmaceutical industry, and the U.S. Government’s failure to rein in a lethal profit machine."

Read it all here.

The Case of the Magical Mommy

2011-01-01T12:46:00.002-05:00

This is a belated Thanksgiving post, not because it was supposed to be written at Thanksgiving, but because there is just so much to be thankful for. M and I were blessed with a little boy a little over two weeks ago... The Little Dude (henceforth to be referred to as LD) is an absolute joy - it's amazing how much fun can be had looking at an infant make silly faces, open and close his eyes, turn his head... It's also amazing how someone so tiny can completely shift your entire schedule: eating habits (what to eat, when to eat, how to eat), sleeping habits, noise around the house - everything changes... Through out my pregnancy, I was rather lax with my food sensitivities... I felt sick whether I had wheat or not, so why not enjoy that croissant... Now, if I feel sick, so does Little Dude, and if Little Dude feels sick, he doesn't sleep, and if he doesn't sleep... well, you see where this is going. I haven't been this good about avoiding my food intolerances in over a year. He's re-introducing discipline to my life.
Of course, just because I eat right, doesn't mean he will sleep either. In fact, so far LD has a habit of sleeping during the day and waking up at night ready to par-tay! Most days from 1-6 a.m., he's like "Mama, this is where it's at!" and nothing, not eating, changing, swaddling, being rocked, being burped, or playing will change his mind. And this is where part two of the Thanksgiving comes in... My mother has been hear with us since before LD arrived, waiting for his arrival, coaching us through the arrival, and coaching us since his arrival.
Sore and in need of a back-rub? Have no fear, super-mommy is here to indulge you, even if it's past midnight... Baby won't settle down at 2 a.m.? Super-mommy to the rescue - hand the baby over once he's fed, and she'll take care of the burping, swaddling, rocking and changing. Don't want to eat take out, but have no energy to cook? Mommy's been keeping us going with amazing, healthful, home-cooked food that tastes great on top of it... and it's not like she has all the energy in the world. She does this on the little sleep she gets between each Little Dude hand-off...
I wake up at 5 a.m. for a feeding and she's got a little breakfast in bed tray set up on the night table: Kamut bread with sheep's milk cheese and tomatoes, or salmon salad, clementines, prunes, water or herbal tea. I can't imagine what I would do without her here.
I'll be home with LD this year on Mat Leave, and bit by bit I plan to get the hang of this whole 'sleeping enough with a baby' thing. But for now, having super-mom around is just a God-send. She's always been super mom, but there's nothing like becoming a mother yourself to really show you how amazing yours is.

She's dead of course

2010-09-03T16:42:00.000-04:00

You know that song about the old lady who swallowed a fly? It starts with the fly, and then she progressively swallows bigger and bigger animals to catch the fly, or the next animal she's swallowed, until she works her way up to a horse, at which point the song ends with "She's dead of course!"
Well, this song was one of my stand bys for entertaining the little angels this summer at various points. We must have sung it a hundred times and the kids absolutely loved it... The real fun, would begin when the kids made up their own versions, deciding what else the old lady swallowed.
Some highlights:

There was an old lady who swallowed a mouse
There was an old lady who swallowed a car
There was an old lady who swallowed a shirt
The was an old lady who swallowed a house
There was an old lady who swallowed a frog

Of course, when kids make something up to an existing pattern, that's when you realize how much of the pattern they truly understood. Dubai Angela seemed to get that the object had to be big to result in the final "she's dead of course"... What she didn't understand, was the phrase "of course". Apparently, Dubai Angela had been mishearing me all this time and heard "she's dead of horse", in reference to the horse that the old lady swallowed. As in 'the old lady had died of horse-related causes'...

So, in her version the song often ended "there was an old lady who swallowed a car - she's dead of car!", or "she's dead of house!" spoken with a very serious, dramatic voice, to demonstrate the tragedy. Needless to say, I had a hard time keeping a straight face, but am now looking for excuses to incorporate this new phrasing into all my conversations.

About this summer...

2010-09-02T17:26:00.000-04:00

The post I'm writing right now was meant for July. That's the kind of summer it's been. My internationally-residing sisters and their munchkins were here for the summer, and by here I mean Ottawa, and my younger sister and I took every opportunity to get down there and see them. It was glorious - the joys of extended family - because, let's face it, our nuclear family, with all the kids and the husbands and the in-laws, really has become an extended family - were so so so apparent. I don't know how to describe how I felt, the complete and total enjoyment of being together, the first night my sisters and I were all in the same room again and within 5 minutes of all arriving were acting like teenage girls (but only in the "we're so inhibited and we have so much fun" way, NOT in the "we can be super annoying" way). It helped, of course, that the kids were sleeping that first night, that we were able to regress to our silliness unobserved by curious 5 year-old eyes and get it all out of our systems before they had a chance to see us in the morning.
Ah, the kids... they are growing: My Cali Angela is 7. 7! Her little brothers are 6 and 3. Dubai Angela (who will need to be renamed since her family is relocating to Abu Dhabi) will be 5 in a couple of months. Her little brother is 3 and then there's the Baby Angel, who's been on the seen for less than two months... Remember him? The quiet one? His voice is still very soft :)
And of course, there is Montreal Angela - she who will soon be 1... Montreal Angela is no longer the baby of the family. Of course, don't try to tell her that... And this summer, she was old enough to play and be played with. The other kids, particularly Dubai Angel, adore her. And she adores being adored...
Cali Angela and Dubai Angela do everything together. They even draw pictures for each other and send them in the mail. They remind me of my relationship growing up with my cousins in Egypt, how we missed each other all year but for a few weeks each summer, were bound together, given endless days to play and run and talk and get covered in dust and grime... how those precious weeks sustained our entire relationship, how our sense of family grew defined by that time... The kids are still little but they're growing. They ask new questions every day. Harder questions, ones I have to think about before answering.
And this summer is officially over now in our family... The last "crazy/busy" trip to Ottawa was last week... Now we start the countdown to next summer, sustain ourselves with the phone and the internet for a year, and that's ok, because we're good at it, because if you're close enough, distance is hard, but ultimately, irrelevant...

Baby Angel Arrival Bulletin

2010-07-30T20:47:00.000-04:00

Extra! Extra! Read all about it here!
Auntie Noha is now an Aunt times 7!
His Tiny-ness arrived last Sunday, 9 days overdue, in Ottawa, and will be continuing to grace us with his presence until his Mama and older siblings (Dubai Angel and Angela, respectively) head back to the UAE in early September...
He is the first baby in our family that I can remember who seems to have a fairly quiet cry - ha! I'm not sure it'll last, but right now, even at his most cranky, his "waaah, waaaah", isn't a "WAAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAAAAH!". I say enjoy it while you can, Mama Angel!
His older brother and sister are taking their new arrival very well, and are happy to help Mama and Baba hold baby, dress baby, feed baby (mind you, they don't really do these things, but they are extremely supportive, and they frequently get their parents whatever baby-item they need from across the room or downstairs :))
Dubai Angela also has plans to put on a puppet show for his Tiny-ness. I'm not sure how she'll manage that, as his eyes are frequently closed, but I wish her the best of luck!

Harry Potter!

2010-07-29T20:40:00.000-04:00

I know I'm REAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLY late on the bandwagon, but I have to tell this story so that others don't make the mistake I did...

I never got on the Harry Potter bandwagon; figured it was silly; figured I wouldn't really like it. And despite the fact that everyone who read it told me it was brilliant, way more than a kids' fantasy book, so so so amazing, I just thought "meh". So much so that no matter how many times M suggested I read it, I just told him I probably would - someday. As in, 10 years from now...
So when the sixth movie came out on DVD, and M was going to watch it, I said I'd watch with him. "Are you sure?" he asked. "It gives a lot of stuff away. What if you decide to read the books"... But I insisted. By the time I got to the books, I'd have forgotten anything important, surely. So I watched the movie a few months ago, and that was that. And I still had no plans to read the book...
And then this summer I had several book "misses" - picking books up that had received GLOWING reviews and finding them just not that good. Sometimes not even getting through the whole thing. Disappointed. Always looking for the next good one... and there was M, sitting on the couch, partway through the last book, seeming to really enjoy it and I finally decided "why not? I can't find anything good to read anyway"... And I picked up the first one, and basically didn't look up for 3 weeks, until I was done the last one. So good. So unbelievably amazing.
I want to be J K Rowling. Short of that, I want to be her best friend. I want some of her genius to rub off on me. Best sustained series of writing I've ever read. No character is a stock character; no back story is left unexamined. You care about EVERYONE. For 7 books, for thousands of pages of writing. And when it ends you want it to keep going but at the same time it ends so perfectly that you can't imagine what would come next. I cried.
Except.
Except I'd watched the sixth movie and something REALLY huge happens at the end of the sixth movie, and all through the series, I couldn't forget about this detail I knew that I shouldn't know, and I was so upset with myself that I already knew this, and that it coloured my whole perspective, and that I read certain things that should have been read one way except I knew, I knew! so it wasn't the same....
So, read Harry Potter if you haven't already for goodness sakes. The movies are NOTHING compared to the book. Not even close... and if you haven't already seen the movies, wait! and if you have, it's ok, read the books anyway. You'll still love them. You can't not love them. Trust me.
and then you'll want to be JK Rowling's best friend too...

Remind me that I wrote this when I whine in the winter

2010-07-28T18:35:00.000-04:00

I don't like any temperature over 25 degrees Celsius... I've started resenting and avoiding the sun. We've had a heat wave on and off since basically the beginning of July and it got me thinking "maybe I wouldn't be able to handle living in California after all".
You know how snowbirds go down to Florida in the winter to avoid the cold? Maybe I'd be the lone Canadian living in California who hiked it up on home to Canada in the summer to avoid the heat! Yes, I could do that...
But really, I'm also wondering how I would have survived had my parents never immigrated to Canada... Me. In Egypt. In the summer....
I have become completely useless. Beyond sitting on the couch, my activities range to shifting on the couch because the spot I'm on is too hot, slinking down to the floor, and sitting on the chair. Also, adjusting the AC or the fan... And dreaming about lemonade. Or ice cream...
Every night, I check the forecast for the next day and cry silently in my head if the high is over 27, or if there's humidity... I can't wait for fall. Yes, I am definitely abnormal.

Pure Joy!

2010-06-07T19:03:00.002-04:00

If you know me, you know I'm someone who takes joy in the simple things in life, and that little makes me happier than a good joke or some wordplay... Well, today I was randomly reminded of that genius, Gary Larson, and his incomparable comic strip, The Far Side... I spent some time perusing google images, flipping through some old favourites, and I just had to share my joy with everyone else... (M can attest to the fact that I was really, insanely happy, gleeful even, as I made him look at one comic after another...)
Do yourself a favour and go buy the set (I know I will!) but in the meantime, enjoy this one, on me:

Generation A

2010-05-08T17:18:00.004-04:00

I'm reading this book by Douglas Coupland right now, and it's been a bit of a disappointed. Years ago, either at the end of high school or in early university, I read Microserfs and really really enjoyed it. So I suppose I expected Generation A to live up to the same hype... And maybe it has, and maybe that's the problem.
The book title is a reference to Kurt Vonnegut's statement, made in a commencement address in 1994 to graduating students at Syracuse University:

"Now you young twerps want a new name for your generation? Probably not, you just want jobs, right? Well, the media do us all such tremendous favors when they call you Generation X, right? Two clicks from the very end of the alphabet. I hereby declare you Generation A, as much at the beginning of a series of astonishing triumphs and failures as Adam and Eve were so long ago."

But this book's actually about the generation after Generation X, my generation. We've been labeled everything under the sun - sometimes Generation Y, sometimes Generation D (for "Digital"). And we've been called a lot of things: lazy, self-centred, convinced that we're the smartest and best at everything, and that we deserve raises and promotions just for showing up to work.

So why don't I like the book? Well, while there's a lot of cleverness and wit, and while the author manages, with some irreverence, to capture the ridiculous materialism and media obsession of modern-time, there's almost too much of it, and the characters are pretty vapid and superficial. I have a hard time caring about vapid characters, and I need to like characters to enjoy a book. But maybe the book gets it just right and this is the problem. Maybe by being such an accurate description of Generation A, by portraying my generation as the shallow, materialistic people we are, Coupland's lost my interest. Are we all actually like this? I don't think so, but I think there's an alarming number of us who are (as evidenced by the characters (who are unfortunately real people) on shows like Jersey Shore and The Hills) to scare me about our future... How many of us, relative to past generations, read books? How many of us follow politics, or business, or something other than movies and tv shows? How many of us know what happens in countries other than our own?
I'll finish the book, but only because I'm so close to the end. Maybe it's frustrating me because it shows such a bleak and meaningless future. That's not the future I want.

The Angels are Coming!

2010-05-02T20:09:00.002-04:00

Yes, it's true. A couple of weeks ago, I got the fantastic news. After several months of bracing myself that my various international little angels would not be visiting this summer, a twist of wind blew fate the other way and both (both!) of my out-of-country sisters will be coming to visit.
What does this mean? Well, first of all, it means that my Dubai Angela and Angel will soon be meeting Baby Angela (our beautiful latest addition who arrived last September) for the first time, and I'm sure they'll be doing their best to "babysit" her from day 1. My younger sister tells me the story of speaking on the phone with Dubai Angela, who announced to her last fall, "Auntie, when we come in the summer, I'll be four and a half, so you can leave baby with me and take a nap or go for a walk!" (oh, to be four and a half again and think that four and a half is old!).
The California Angels will arrive shortly after, in June, and then the party will truly begin. Luckily, they'd met Baby Angela this winter when she and her mommy took a little trip south, and they took turns "babysitting" too. Ah, the fun.
What else does it mean? It means that Ottawa will be loud, filled with that gorgeous, ear-splitting decibel of children everywhere, in the back yard running through the sprinkler, in the kitchen asking for peanut butter and honey sandwiches, under your arm momentarily when you manage to scoop them up for kisses before they run past you to go fight over a toy or finish a game of tag or tea.
There is nothing I love more than watching my parents with their grandchildren, the conversations that take place between a child who still stares at the world with wonder and a parent whose wisdom and lifetime of experience has shown him its reality. Last summer, a couple of days before Dubai Angela went home, she and Grandma had the most beautiful conversation on the carpet in the living room after night prayer. The rest of us listened as Angela asked Grandma why she couldn't go back with them to Dubai, as she painstakingly explained where everyone would sleep, how there was enough room for everyone there around the supper table, convinced that if she solved this one little problem Grandma and Grandpa could get on the plane and come back with them... My mother evaded, pointing out that she hadn't bought a plane ticket, that maybe there would be none left, and finally saying to Little Angela, "but I can't live in Dubai - Ottawa's my home"... It was beautiful and sweet and funny and sad all at once, and you could see three and a half year old Angela growing up with the realization that sometimes you have to be apart from the people you love, sometimes it's not as simple as getting a plane ticket...
I don't think I'll ever forget that conversation. It reminded me of one I had with my Grandfather, long ago, on his veranda in Alexandria, the moment between my mother's father and I, his kind, knowing smile, my young mind struggling to understand. I used to cry each summer we would visit Egypt, when we'd get in the car to leave Alexandria for Cairo, and again, when we'd get in the car to drive through Cairo one last time for the airport. I'd look behind me at the waving hands and cry and cry, and ask why they couldn't all just live in Canada with me. I remember learning Little Angela's lesson and growing older with that knowledge. I remember, when I was little, it not being enough that I would see all those loved ones soon. And now it is enough. And now I'm grateful.

Sports-fan Vengeance

2010-04-30T16:54:00.003-04:00

When M and I were engaged, I constantly told him that he was a nicer, more discipline version of me. Being so nice, he of course protested and denied my point, but after 2+ years of marriage, I am convinced that I'm more right than ever.
Exhibit A: we went on a little trip to Boston over Easter - and the city is gorgeous! Beautiful architecture, gorgeous nature, nice people, incredible history. The only thing I couldn't appreciate was their hockey team - the Boston Bruins. Now, the Bruins are major rivals to my boys, the Montreal Canadiens, and we were there in the thick of the play-off race, so when Boston lost one of the games they had that weekend (to Toronto, no less!) I was smugly satisfied. "But why?" M asked, "why do you want them to do badly?"
"Because they're our rivals - I have to hate them. I DO hate them." and I meant it. Not the individual players or people - I have nothing against those, but the team, the Bruins as an entity: I can't want them to do well. What kind of a Habs fan would that make me?
Exhibit B: My beloved Canadiens have pulled off a miraculous upset in round 1 of this year's play-offs, beating the unbeatable Washington Capitals, a team with Ovechkin, Backstrom, Semin, Knuble, and a defenseman named Mike Green who's been nominated for the Norris trophy this year. I'm listing all these guys so you realize who GOOD washington was. And we beat them. And on the night of their elimination, as we were leading the score 2-0 with 5 minutes left, the TV panned across the Washington audience and showed us their desolate faces. M felt sorry for them. I laughed at them. I may have said "Nana nana boo-boo". Mature. I know. But the point is, I felt pure and total glee at their frustration. Again, my bewildered husband asked "Why?" - and I truly can't remember what I answered, but I justified my behaviour. Now, to put it in more articulate words, I think this is the reason: this is the joy in being a fan. You laugh at the other team because if they weren't losing you'd be losing. Victory and defeat in sports are mutually exclusive. Victory only goes to one side. So I'm laughing at them not so much because they're losing, but because the fact that they're losing means I'm winning. In life, this is different. In life, you can make yourself a winner and help other people be winners at the same time. I would never allow myself to laugh at another's misfortune in life. But in sports, I more than allow it, I enjoy it. M still thinks this is unreasonable, and that's all the proof I need that's he's nicer. Waaaaaaaay nicer. I'm lucky my husband is so awesome.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my hate on for the Pittsburgh Penguins. This is gonna be more difficult. Crosby was Canada's golden boy 2 months ago, and now he must become an enemy. Wish me luck!

Because it's almost graduation time...

2010-04-06T19:07:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make: I've never read Harry Potter. I just didn't do it early enough (tried one time with the first book and lost interest) and now it seems weird to pick it up. I can't commit to 7 books, not when there are so many others I want to read and so little time to begin with. Not now. That said, I'll probably do it some day - maybe in 2 months, maybe in 30 years, who knows? Also, despite having never read it, I really do like JK Rowling, and I was in Boston last weekend for a visit and toured Harvard (or Hahvahd - as the locals say) so when I read JK Rowling's graduation address to the Harvard class of 2008, I wanted to share. It's a beautiful read, full of wisdom and good ideas, and above all, compassion. Enjoy:

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.
The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I have endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at the world’s largest Gryffindor reunion.
Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, the law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step to self improvement.
Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that have expired between that day and this.
I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.
These may seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that would never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension. I know that the irony strikes with the force of a cartoon anvil, now.
So they hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.
I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all the subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.
I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.
At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.
I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.
However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown.
Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears that my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.
Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.
So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.
You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.
Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies.
The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned.
So given a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.
Now you might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I personally will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.
One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working at the African research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.
There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.
Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to speak against their governments. Visitors to our offices included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had left behind.
I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him back to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.
And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just had to give him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.
Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.
Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard, and read.
And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.
Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.
Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.
And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.
I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.
What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.
One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.
That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.
But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.
If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.
I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.
So today, I wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:
As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.
I wish you all very good lives.
Thank you very much.

Because I like to relive the golden moments...

2010-03-20T16:52:00.002-04:00

This video (with basically no video but lots of sound in so many languages) made me smile... It's a perfect example of how sports can be a shared moment.
The Iggy Heard Around the World:

Too awesome to keep to myself

2010-03-19T17:13:00.002-04:00

I tend to come across hilarious youtube videos every so often, and when I like them enough I like to share, because spreading the joy should be part of everyone's mission in life....
Apparently, this video was a wedding invitation. I have NO idea how they actually did it, technically. Strings I assume? Maybe... And I wish they'd tell us at youtube in the info section for the video, but it's not there... Still, too clever. And very very creative.

Enjoy:

Closing thoughts

2010-03-02T18:07:00.003-05:00

I was going to write a long, after-the-fact post about the Olympics, but the fact that I wanted to make it long was putting it off, so I've decided to ramble a little instead, and include what I felt were a few links to other articles/media that gave me the warm and fuzzies inside.
General thoughts are:

I love this country. It's huge and generous and physically cold but emotionally warm and inviting. We smile at each other. We generally mean well. We have a lot of wonderful things that some of the bigger, more powerful countries around us do not (hello healthcare!) and I'm perfectly happy with out humble approach to patriotism. I don't see it as essential to have a flag on hand every time we finish well in an event just so we can wave it. It's enough to be wearing our colours, to be smiling, to be us. I also didn't truly care whether we "owned the podium" or not. Long after the rest of these Olympics are forgotten, the two Canadian moments most of us will remember are Alexandre Bilodeau hugging his brother Frederic, and Joannie Rochette, going out there and giving the skate of her life while still grieving her mother's sudden death. Sports are a symbol of what we love and who we aspire to be, not the real thing.
The men's hockey final was awesome, but I think for many, the game that really made us feel it was the quarter-finals against Russia. I, for one, came into this game with dread and fear and foreboding in the worst possible way. I always always always feel my team (no matter who) is going to lose, and last Wednesday was no exception. But we won. In fact, not only did we win, we KILLED. We were very, very good. At one point, around the time that the score was 4-1 or 5-1, one of the Canadian commentators said, "we came into this game talking about the Russians' skill, but what about the Canadians' skill..." and you know what? He was right? I think of our guys as hard working, I think of them as tough and honest, and taken individually, each as a star with his NHL team, I would trade the entire Habs roster to have any one of them come play in Montreal, but altogether, as I was comparing teams, did I think of them as skilled? No. And why is that? Is it our humility taken to an unproductive level? I think so, and it begs the question, could we stand to feel a bit more pride not just in our work ethic and tenacity, but in our competence, in our skill? Again, I think so.
That said, I like our humility... I like our ability to laugh at ourselves, as we did during the tongue-in-cheek closing ceremonies (apologizing athletes? William Shatner? giant flying moose and beavers? It may just be that I have a corny sense of humour, but I LOVED). So, I suppose it's a balance of confidence and humility together.
You know I love hockey, and you know my little sister hates it, but even she was moved when she saw the men's team win gold on Sunday. And hockey does something to most of us as Canadians, seeps into us and becomes part of who we are as people, even if we aren't huge fans or don't know the stats. This fantastic article by Michael Grange really captured the spirit of hockey's effect on our identities, and I had to share.
And now, because Stephen Brunt said it so much better than I can, here's a great photo essay about how I, and many others, felt about the games.

The Only Gold That Matters

2010-02-16T19:53:00.003-05:00

The Winter Olympics are upon us - and Canada has finally broken the hosting-gold medal curse. In fact, we have two gold medals already, but the REAL tournament starts tonight: Men's Hockey.
That's right - we Canadians wouldn't really mind if we didn't win a single other medal, but this one, this one is a matter of pride, it's a matter of national identity. We do hockey. That's what we do.
Tonight: Norway. With all due respect, this should be a cakewalk. Should be, but I'm nervous because I get nervous. I worry about my hockey team. I'm used to cheering for the Habs, and these days, a win for them is never easy, so I've become used to lowering my standards so as not to be crushed.
But we're the favourites, and though I logically know we're likely to defeat Norway, the pool is deep and getting the gold won't be easy. But this is the medal. This is the one every Canadian wants (unless of course you're my younger sister, who has a chip on her shoulder against hockey from years of my abandoning her to watch games on Saturday nights instead).
Mike Boone, my favourite hockey blogger, is going to be live-blogging all Team Canada games. Let's hope I can report back in a couple of weeks with the only gold that matters.

The Book

2010-02-10T19:20:00.003-05:00

It's things like this that make me realize
how much you aren't with me
how much you're elsewhere even if
our brains are fused in some spiderweb way

things like
sitting in the Borders
my shoulders hunched over a book
about twins and thinking thoughts
fluidly
from one brain into another
conversations happening
without words
in sequences that are not
chronological
not spacial
not dimensional
sequences that are not sequences at all
but souls woven together

and my shoulders shaking
my eyes dry then wet then weeping
tears on my chin
dribbling down to my skirt
other patrons looking

I mark pages
dog-ear ends of corners to read you
later
to tell you through the wireless
thoughts between us
the part where Bessi leaves Georgia
then Georgia leaves Bessi
we are neither one or the other
but bits of both
twins though older
and younger
though not quite identical on the outside
but not quite whole
alone

Because this says what I wanted to say, but better

2010-02-04T22:32:00.003-05:00

So two posts ago, I was talking about wasting time on facebook, and then today one of facebook friends linked to a great article about modern procrastination. Ironic, then, that I found this article through one of the causes of my time-wasting.
Enjoy.

Sisters

2010-02-03T19:45:00.000-05:00

We are four sides to a square, each holding that precarious balance, their piece of our existence as a whole. We are a range of colours and shapes and emotions, an abstract painting done in some dream of light, a reflection through a foggy mirror, each of us swimming into the next, the distinction so clear and yet so blurry. We can be the same person if we swim far back enough, can reach that point where our hearts are still beating in one spot, are still fed directly from our mother, where our minds do not yet fully exist, where our worlds are warm and fuzzy and hold you so close, so protective, there is nothing to do but be held.
I am a different person with my sisters, different with each of them and yet exactly the same because it is not a secretive change, but a natural one. I am a clown with S, a writer with H, and a sweetheart with A. We fit into each other’s clothes, steal shoes and thoughts and old headscarves, steal ideas. We steal and are stolen from willingly, listen and talk silently, hug and cry when there is nothing else to be done. My sisters stretch before me like sign posts, they stretch after me like a trail of fans, following every step, waiting, breath held, to see what I will do next.
A is the oldest, and so sweet there is something beguiling in her smile. You can’t help but have some of it rub off on you when you’re with her – you start to think more kindly, to talk more earnestly, to ignore the things that drive you crazy. A tricked our parents into thinking all little girls were so angelic, so they went and had more of us, and for that we all owe her.
H is the witness, the one who chronicles our lives, all the joys and the heartbreaks – the graduations and marriages, the births, the reunions and separations. H will make you cry no matter how determined you may be to keep your eyes dry and your face stern. She will find that spot in you by telling, by reminding, by making you soar first and dive later, reach your humanity, your longing. When we are 80 and we want to remember, it is to H’s words that we will turn. When we are 80, she will still find ways to make us cry.
S is the baby and the joker. She is the opening line of a performance that started off as a simple phone call, and the comic relief at the end of any hardship. S has a knack for words and keeps it a secret, tucked away beneath a straight face, sparkling eyes deadpan, waiting for you to crack first. And though she’s the baby she’s been everywhere and done everything. She steamrolls right past you – not showy or obvious, but quietly doing her exceptional thing as though it was nothing, and blushing when you point out the accomplishments, wishing you would stop.
I do not know who I am without them – I am attempts at A’s kindness and gentleness, H’s intensity and lyricism, S’s wit and humility. I am attempts to emulate each of my sisters, falling short and hoping to some day catch up, happy in the meantime that I at least have the teachers to guide me.

Guilty as charged

2010-01-31T20:33:00.002-05:00

This article is scary - apparently, since 2008, our use of social networking sites has increased 82%, and people in several countries (the US, Australia, UK, and several other European countries) spend about 5.5 hours a day, 7 days a week, on social networking sites. While Canada isn't listed here (ignored again, sigh...) I bet the numbers aren't all that different for us.
I got on Facebook a little over a year ago - giving in to the fact that it was one of the easier ways to stay in touch with friends I didn't see any more, friends who were still in Ottawa, or traveling elsewhere (like Japan, where one of my dearest friends is living and posting all her photos from her travels to Facebook). Since then, I have to say that I've gotten pretty hooked, more hooked than I'd like to admit - although I think I fall well shy of the 5.5 hours this survey claims people spend daily.
While I might be "logged in" to my account almost all the time, I'm rarely actually sitting at my computer browsing through ... I know this frustrates the heck out of a lot of my friends, who start a chat with me, only to discover that my status is misleading, and that I'm only "online" in theory.
Still, a number like this wakes you up. It's hard to say how much of my FB time is a waste, and how much I really get something out of. I feel a lot more connected with some of my friends than I have in years, and when we do get to chat, I catch up with people I really miss, but I also miss that old fashioned device - the telephone. More talk, less text, I say. Now let's see if I'm all talk.

So that's why this is happening...

2010-01-24T12:02:00.002-05:00

I should probably just rename this blog "the Scott Feschuk fan page". The guy is just so hilarious, and his columns in MacLeans magazine are too ridiculously funny not to share with the rest of the world. The newest MacLeans includes his explanation for our fabulous Prime Minister Harper's reasons for proroguing parliament (American friends, ignore this: your country may be mired in all sorts of other messes, but I'm pretty sure if your president ever tried to just "suspend" your houses of government for a few months, there would be a revolution. Unlike here, where we all politely complain about it and go on our merry ways shoveling our driveways and eating beavertails - what's that you say? No snow to shovel this winter? They're going to have to fake the snow in Whistler for the Olympic skiing and snowboarding events? Oh relax, I'm sure that has nothing to do with the ever changing climate and warming temperatures that our government so obviously didn't care about at the Copenhagen climate change summit a few months back! Now now, you're being too paranoid about this whole thing. Relax, enjoy the mild weather).
Oh yes, this was supposed to be a light post. I will leave you to Scott Feschuk's much more entertaining perspective on our country's messed-upedness.

Good News Everybody! (She said with a sarcastic laugh)

2010-01-16T18:19:00.001-05:00

Guess what! Canadians are fatter and less fit now than we were 20 years ago... I think we all already knew this, but now we have a study to back us up. The Stats Can Survey, which is the first one completed since 1981, shows that almost two-thirds of adults and one-quarter of children in Canada are overweight.
These are scary numbers people. Scary numbers that wouldn't happen in poorer countries because they have so much less to eat. But it makes me wonder. I watched this clip for a documentary called FoodMatters, and one of the guys in it said, "a quarter of what you eat keeps you alive and three-quarters of what you eat keeps your doctor alive". I really do think that as a society, we've lost sight of the reason we eat. We've made food more a social thing or an emotional thing, and so much less something we do to nourish our bodies. So far, I've been making good on my new year's resolutions about food and exercise: I just got back from the gym; I haven't put a single bite of anything made with processed sugar or flour in my mouth since Jan 3rd. My plan is to keep this up for at least a month and then revisit - but the crazy thing is that, even though it seemed like it would be impossible to eat this way before I started, it's really not that hard. Habits just need changing is all, and I think we as country need to make those changes. And soon.
p.s. I've bought Food Inc. Now I just need to find the time to watch it.

Snuggie Temptation...

2010-01-13T18:36:00.001-05:00

When I sit down to watch tv or a movie, I like a blanket to keep me warm, especially if I'm tired or sleep-deprived. So when the snuggie came out last year, I have to admit that I was very very tempted to get one.
Have you seen the commercials? Insanely corny and ridiculous:

Better yet, have you seen the spoofs:

They should be a total reason not to get the thing, right? But I actually want it even more now... I mean, a blanket with sleeves - how awesome is that? and I love tv or commercials that fall into the "so bad they're good" category. Don't get me wrong, if I buy the thing, I won't be out and about in public with it, or wear it on an airplane like in the commercial (sorry, too embarrassing), but something for the couch or the desk sounds good...
Thus far, I haven't caved, but the moment may come soon. I'll keep you posted.

Little Angel Bonding Time

2010-01-07T20:54:00.002-05:00

I have had the pleasure and joy of seeing Baby Angela two days in a row this week: last night, my sis and brother-in-law were over for dinner, and of course brought the tiny little bundle of adorability with them, which allowed for much cuddling time. Today, I babysat her for a couple of hours after work. Baby Angela is still only 3 and a half months old, so me describing to you in excruciating detail what she does is really not interesting unless you're one of her doting relatives, you kind of have to see it yourself. But let me just say that up close, this little girl is spunky and has a lot personality. When she's lying on her back on the ground, she raises her hands and legs in the air and circles her legs as though she's riding a bicycle. I think she's just inspired a new exercise method!
Also, the mohawk: Baby Angela has a mohawk right now. Not a real one, but an "I'm semi-bald and when my hat comes off the hair in the middle of my head makes a bee-line for the cieling" kind of mohawk. So cute. She rocks the look like the little punk that she is...
In other Little Angel news, a hilarious story from my Dubai Little Angel, who is turning three in a few months. Apparently, his mother took his teddy bear "Bobbo" from him one day in order to wash it a while back. She told him Bobbo was taking a bath and put him in the laundry.
A few days later, my other sister (Baby Angela's mom) reports over-hearing this conversation while on the phone with her:
Mother: "Little Angel, how many times have I told you, take your foot out of the washing machine".
Little Angel: "But I want to take a bath".
Ha! From the mouths of babes, indeed.

World Juniors Craziness

2010-01-05T18:08:00.000-05:00

In honour of tonight's finals between Canada and the US in the international Under 20 Hockey World Championships, here is a hilarious list of the golden rules of broadcasting for the World Juniors from Chris Selley at the National Post. My favourite:

Though this is easily the second-most compelling annual competition in the sport (after the Stanley Cup playoffs), the most important thing at any given moment in any given game is which NHL team drafted each player on the ice and what he might in future do for that team, or where undrafted players may go in forthcoming drafts. The eight Nashville Predators fans watching must be kept informed!

Despite the silliness, I probably will be following on TSN despite their ridiculous commentary. I love this tournament and it's been far too long since I watched - even if watching tonight actually means putting the laptop on the counter and glancing over while I cook. Enjoy the list. It's a Canadian tradition to get obnoxious when it comes to hockey. and enjoy the game. Go Boys!

New Years Resolutions

2010-01-04T18:56:00.006-05:00

I write New Years Resolutions the way I dream, throwing in a variety of plans and hopes, from the immediate and practical to the out-there and wishful. So... let me try to write some things I can actually accomplish, just to keep myself from getting discouraged, and then let me write somethings that are less likely to keep it interesting and more motivating, and then - just for the heck of it - I'll add some thing(s) that are more 'Life Resolution' than 'New Years Resolution', just to remind me that I still want to get to them at some point.

Read a Tariq Ramadan book or two. This man is a genius and I just heard him speak at a conference last week. He has such great ideas and is so good at articulating them that I'm constantly buying his books with the intention to read them, but I have a hard time with long non-fiction books (articles -good, books - not so good) and they're quite academic at the start that I can't get past that. But I must this year. Even if I start in the middle of one of the books to get over the dreaded "first chapter curse", I'll do it.
Write more. My good friend Jen over at UticaAvenue and my sister and I have started a little "weekly writing circle" virtually, seeing as we're all in different locations. It's a start, but I need to dedicate more time to writing. I actually would like to start submitting writing to magazines and journals and see what happens. This is my realistic goal...
My unrealistic one? Write a novel/novella... I've tried this before but it's never amounted to anything. I think I can do it, with more time and focus, neither of which I currently have. Still, I would love to walk into a store one day and see my name on something. Ultimate dream.
Exercise more, eat better. This one is on-going and needs constant reminding. Working on it. This entire month is going to be an exercise in conscious, healthier eating. Will keep you posted.
Stay in touch with family/friends who aren't living nearby. I am really really awful at this, as all my friends/family who aren't in Montreal know. Case in point: my friends in Ottawa thought we'd be seeing each other constantly the whole year and a half I was commuting and living there 2 nights a week. I saw a few of them once or twice. That was it.
Join a community garden - another far-away one. there are so few gardens with so few spaces that even if I got on a waiting list now, it would take 3 or 4 years before I was actually allotted a spot, so next best thing....
Start buying organic. This one IS doable, and I hope to be doing it soon. The more reading I do about this, the more convinced I am that our food system is so messed up, and so tied in with disease, not to mention water wastage, fossil fuels, carbon emissions, that it's worth changing my personal approach to it.
Bike to work in the summer. If you live anywhere in Eastern Canada, you know that it's not very easy to bike in the winter. I could do it if I really tried, but it involves a LOT of risk with the way drivers in this city drive, along with the snow and ice and all. But now that I'm living so close to my office, it should be doable when the snow is gone.

and that's what I'd like to do, this month, this year, this life...

If you're reading this...

2009-12-03T16:49:00.002-05:00

you're very lucky. Just like I am for being able to write it.
In the spirit of American Thanksgiving (I know: I'm fiercely, proudly Canadian, but I have a lot of American friends, so I was very aware of their recent holiday) and of living with gratitude in general, I thought I'd share a recent thought. First, to give you the background:
Last week, I had a little "procedure" done to remove a chelazion (basically a cyst from a non-draining oil-gland) off my eyelid. The whole procedure took less than 10 minutes and was done right at the clinic I went to. Very very simple. All I had to do was ice it for the next two days, and put in ointment to help it heal.
So, there I was after the surgery, lying on my couch, trying to decide what to do with my sudden free time. I thought about watching tv, but it was super hard to do with an ice pack over one eye. Same with surfing the internet or reading a book. Even without the ice pack, my eye tired very easily and didn't want to do a lot of work. In the end, I napped and listened to the radio, but it got me thinking. I can see. and the fact that I can see gives me access to so many things I have come to rely on as basic in my life, things I didn't know what to do without for 48 hours. Take it one step further. Not only could I see, I had access to a computer and internet.
I'm not sure what percentage of the world's population has internet at home, but it can't be the majority of us - not even close. Some of us don't even have running water.
So yes, if you're reading this, you likely have running water, and access to medicine, and you can see. I have all three of these things and many many others that I take for granted. And for all of this, I am grateful.
Happy thanksgiving - or as my friend Jenny calls it - Happy Gratitude Day.

A modest request for the coffee shops

2009-11-30T17:28:00.001-05:00

You know I'm a lover of sitting in your wonderful, relaxing atmospheres. You know there is little I enjoy more than kicking back with a latte and a book and just losing myself in the setting.
Of course, I can't drink milk, lactose free or otherwise, because of my allergies. and my solution has always been soy. Well, recently I've read some frightening things about soy (including the fact that 90% of the soy generated for North American consumption is genetically modified - if you haven't yet watched the future of food, you should!). As a result, I've switched to almond milk and stopped buying soy products. Now, this works at home, but in coffee shops, the only non-dairy alternative is soy. Timothy's, Second Cup, Starbucks, anyone who can make you a latte without milk can only make it with soy milk. Now, I'm not drinking these every week or anything, but it would be really really nice if someone started offering almond milk based drinks, or any nut milk for that matter.
So, I'm asking you, please oh coffee shop people, give me something I can drink while I'm reading a book other than herbal tea. Give me a latte without the bad stuff. Please?

Awesomest Eid Ever

2009-11-29T16:20:00.002-05:00

We are on day 3 of Eid Al-Adha, but really wrapping it up because tomorrow's a monday and we'll be back at work. Normally, we end up celebraiting Eid for a day because it's too hard to take more time off, or we're travelling to and from Ottawa or TO, but this Eid, this Eid was different. My parents were coming to Montreal, M's parents and brother were also coming, and my younger sister's in-laws were also in town. Basically, we celebrated in true family style, as-in a bunch of people around an extended table, elbows pressed together, laughter and conversation and ladels being passed from person to person to person. The food was delicious and the company even more so.
It was such a success that M and I (and my younger sister and her hubby) are all insisting that there must be one communal Montreal-style Eid each year.
Repeat, for sure!

4 Umbrellas Later

2009-10-27T18:54:00.003-04:00

I don't think I've mentioned here yet that I've started working out of the Montreal office more and more. I still go to Ottawa for work, but not as often, and since the Montreal office is so wonderfully close to our place, I actually walk to and from work now when I'm here.
Now, I love everything about this new arrangement except for one little detail:
I am notorious for forgetting my umbrella at home. No, scratch that. I bring my umbrella, I just bring it on the days it's not raining. I can carry it for a week to and from work and that week the clouds will not shed a drop. Then I'll forget it and before I head home that afternoon, I'll look out the window and it'll be pouring away. So, I'll go into the Pharmaprix in the plaza downstairs and buy an umbrella - and use it that day before the cycle begins again.
I don't dare get up and count the number of umbrellas M and I have at home, but my guess is that the number is around 7 or 8- and we're two (2!) people. And I'm pretty sure 4 of those were purchased in the last month. By me.
Case in point: yesterday I checked the weather - no rain expected on Monday, but rain expected today. No worries, I would take my brolly today.
And then today happened, and while I was packing my lunch, I remembered that I need the umbrella, but by the time I was done, I'd totally forgotten. and then it wasn't raining in the morning, so I didn't notice when I left the building.
Then, this afternoon as I was heading back from work, I left the office and it was dripping. I walked 100 feet, turned around and went back inside to the Pharmaprix to buy yet ANOTHER umbrella. And then I walked the rest of the way to my errand, did my errand, and walked home without needing it at all. The moment I had the umbrella, the rain stopped. Go figure.

A little dose of inspiration and beauty

2009-10-22T22:12:00.001-04:00

The words in this are perfect, so I won't add my own:

Remember the Dove Commercial? A Leafs Spoof

2009-10-17T10:24:00.000-04:00

I'm a huge hockey fan, and my team is the Montreal Canadiens, who's archrivals are the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Way back when, I posted the Dove Beauty Commercial below. Well, today I saw the parody version with a Leafs fan, instead of a model, at the centre of the clip.
Check them both out. Enjoy the hilarity.

Dove Commercial:

Leafs Parody:

Are you Muslim?

2009-10-15T20:41:00.003-04:00

I was coming up in the elevator today on my way home, and there was a pizza delivery man there too. He looked at me a bit hesitantly and then asked me, "are you Muslim?"
I smiled and nodded. He said, "Assalaamu alaikum" (the Muslim greeting meaning "peace be upon you"), and I replied "wa alaikum assalaam" ("and peace be with you").
That was it. Simple exchange. Nothing fancy, but it made me wonder.
I wear a hijab, and I'm of Arab descent, so I assume, especially because of my hijab, that I'm a very obvious Muslim. And yet this isn't the first time I've been asked if I'm Muslim by a male Muslim before he says salaam.
With women it's very different. If we spot a fellow hijabi, we smile and say salaam right away. We don't ask. We don't need to. Why do they?
I'm not bothered, just curious. It seems unnecessary, no?

Watch This!

2009-10-13T20:08:00.002-04:00

So funny. Apparently there's a comedy show in Australia called "Salam Cafe" (salam means peace in Arabic and is a big part of 'Muslim speak') and they did this hilarious sketch about working with Muslims. I got a real kick out of it. It's good to make fun of ourselves once in a while.
Enjoy!

Food Rules to Live By

2009-10-11T22:12:00.002-04:00

I've been paying a lot more attention to my food during the last two months, trying to figure out the healthiest way to be eating, thinking of my body as a machine and the food I consume as the fuel. A friend who shares my nutrition zeal sent me this neat list of food rules compiled by Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemna. While I don't agree with every rule, it's an interesting list and gives a neat perspective. My personal favourites are #s 9, 11, and 20.
Enjoy.
My personal rule, which I haven't quite managed to implement but which I'm working towards, is: Eat foods in inverse proportion to how long they take to be edible. What I mean by this is that vegetables are the fastest and easiest thing to grow and so should make up the largest portion of our diets, followed by fruits, then grains, then meats.
I don't actually do this, not yet. I wish I did. Working on it.

The Time is Upon Us

2009-10-01T19:18:00.002-04:00

It's fall, there's a chill in the air, and your new-look Montreal Canadiens are about to start their 2009-2010 season (if this opening ceremony ever ends!)
Will they be better this year? I don't know. I hope so. But I hope so every year. Either way, I'm ready (I have been since 3 weeks before training camp) to become a hockey fanatic again. The season is upon us. Yay!

Revealing Ramadan, Take 2

2009-09-17T19:01:00.003-04:00

The same day I posted my previous Revealing Ramadan blog post, I got an email from the good people at Speaking of Faith. I did a brief interview with them today, and read my Ramadan piece. Same for Jen. Not sure if they'll be posting the audio, but the piece is now on the website, here. Enjoy!

Newest Angel on the Block

2009-09-16T19:05:00.000-04:00

Exciting news: my baby sister now has a baby of her own! Our newest little angela made her debut yesterday morning bright and early. She's a beautiful, healthy baby and her parents are already doting over her as we speak (unless she's napping; then they're gratefully trying to get some sleep as well ;))
Once again, I find myself in an enviable position to establish myself as "favourite aunt", since I'm the one living nearby (my baby sis literally lives down the street in Montreal) and I'm working hard on building that status, as I did with my two little Dubai Angels when they were still Ottawa Angels and I was still in Ottawa. (to my other two sisters, I kid of course. We can have a three-way tie for favourite aunt :))
A funny story about our newest angel: At some point during my sister's pregnancy, Montreal Angela was dubbed "Baby Banana" (this had something to do with my sister grocery shopping and coming across plantains which we called Baby Bananas, I think). Anyway, even when Baby Banana was well beyond the size of her namesake, we were still calling her that.
Well, last week, my little Dubai Angel ate a banana, looked up at his mom, and told her, Mama, I have a baby banana in my tummy.
To which his mom responded, What about Auntie? Does she still have a baby banana?
His answer: No, I'm the one who has it now.

Looks like he'll be looking out for his little cousin from the get go!

Revealing Ramadan

2009-09-13T19:27:00.010-04:00

My dear friend Jen let me know about this fabulous website for NPR's Speaking of Faith program. They're doing a "Ramadan special" where they've asked Muslims to write in with their personal reflections on Islam and/or Ramadan. Some were chosen to air on the radio. Others were chosen to show on the site where you can read them. Jen's is here.
Mine was sent in, but doesn't seem to have made the cut. Since I liked it though, I decided I'd share it with you here.
Don't forget to check out the rest of the stories and reflections on the site. I really enjoyed seeing so many different perspectives.

When I think of Ramadan, I think of many things, but the first is almost always my mother, up before the rest of us an hour and a half before dawn to prepare the food we would sleepily consume in the last half hour before the fast began.
My mother, a doctor with a strong interest in nutrition, was always sure to get as much protein into our systems as possible: there were scrambled and boiled eggs, fava beans slow-cooked the traditional Egyptian way, tuna salad. But there was always something for our teenage taste buds: My mother would wake us up with home-cooked french fries, still sizzling on the plate. Into our bedroom she would sweep, singing “wake up, wake up, your food has come to you” in a jolly voice, and as I rolled over on the top bunk to face her, I would find a handful of hot, salty fries stuffed into my mouth before my eyes were even open. It certainly was an effective tactic.
When we were younger, we would “fast” from breakfast until lunch and then from lunch until dinner, feeling for the first time what it was to have sustained hunger, to not cure it immediately with a stop at the fridge or the cupboard. The pangs in our stomachs would knot first, then twist, and there was something so satisfying about not succumbing, about defeating that part of ourselves that cried out to be served, to be given now now NOW!
Experience is learning, is knowledge, and the value of that knot in the pit of my stomach can never be underestimated. I knew, ever so briefly, what it was to want; knew the slight pain, the slight light-headedness that came with it; but more than anything, knew the gratitude of sunset, of taking that first sip of water, that first sweet bite of a date, sweet and soft and buttery, melting on my tongue. And as I got older, I knew too the gratitude of having that water, that date, having what so few have, and especially what so many everywhere can't reach: a fridge full of food; a house with a roof; a blanket to cover my bed; a loving mother who would wake up in the middle of the night to make sure her daughters were well-fed before the fast began.
My father broke his fast with a glass of hot milk, heated to the point of scalding in the microwave, nearly foaming at the top, and three or five dates to go along. It was my father who taught us the supplication to make when breaking our fast:
“Oh God, for you I have fasted, and from your blessings I have broken my fast, and on you I depend, and in you I believe”. And then each one of us would turn inward and think of what she wanted and pray a private prayer, just between her and God, before that first bite, that first sip. It could be anything: I would pray for a good grade on an upcoming test, for a class trip somewhere fun, to get out of babysitting that Friday at the mosque, for forgiveness for my sins – a rude word, a look of ridicule, the missing of one of the five daily prayers.
After the dates and milk we would pray our sunset prayer before having a proper meal, and there we would stand, my mother, my three sisters and I behind our father, reciting the Quran, choosing, somehow, the verses that would nudge our hearts that particular day, his words poetry, a calling to God.

A post about coffee (which I've been meaning to write for weeks)

2009-09-08T18:32:00.003-04:00

You will not believe this... Not if you've read my previous mentions of my coffee addiction, including my complete failures the last two Ramadans to not drink it before starting to fast. Are you ready? Drumroll.............

I QUIT! I, Noha Beshir, professed coffee addict of over 10 years, lover of the Second Cup Paradiso blend, the Timothy's Vanilla Soy Latte, and the regular old Large Timmy's with one milk, have not had a coffee in over three weeks. And, the coffee I consumed three weeks ago was simply due to the fact that I was a counsellor at youth camp, chasing around many lovely, high strung teenage girls on less than 2 hours of sleep for the second day in a row. Before that, I had gone two weeks without coffee as well.
I won't lie: the first 5 days of non-coffee drinking were brutal. Headaches, exhaustion, all that good stuff. But now, I'm smooth sailing. When I'm tired, I try to sleep instead of caffeinating, and I think I'm generally a (slightly) less bubbly person. But yeah: Noha, without coffee. Whoda thunk it, eh?

United Breaks Guitars, but Skype Steals Credit

2009-08-24T16:43:00.004-04:00

Have you heard about the whole United Breaks Guitars saga? This poor east coast musician (named Dave Carroll) was flying to memphis, or somewhere else in the states, via United Airlines, and the baggage handlers totally killed his guitar. Someone on the plane witnessed the whole thing from their seats.
He spent odious amounts of time on the phone with United after, trying to get them to pay for the repairs to the guitar, and of course, got nowhere. So he did what any self-respecting east-coaster would do: he told them he would make two revenge songs and post them on YouTube. And he was good to his word.
The Vidoes, of course, went viral. And it was then that United came through with an apology and some cash (which he's donated to a music school), and Taylor guitars, the makers of his broken guitar, gave him a new one.
The Videos are completely hilarious, and because I'm a total dork and I love spreading the joy, I'm posting them here for your enjoyment:

So, all this to say, we're glad that things ended well for Dave Carroll, and though our ordeal is much smaller, we're reminded of him in a current "situation" we have with skype:
A few months ago, M and I put some money on his skype account to call some of our wonderful relatives in Egypt. We spent a pleasant afternoon chatting with family on both sides, and when we were done, felt we'd made a great investment. Fast forward a few months to this week: it's now the beginning of Ramadan, and we want to call our family in Egypt, as well as my sister in Dubai, to wish everyone a blessed month. M tries to get on skype, but it won't accept his password. No sweat, he tries to change the password. And then, the persistent error message. Skype is having issues. Skype has not let him change his password for over a week, and won't accept the password he's putting in.
Ok, let's call them and tell them we're having this problem. What's that, they have no phone number? Ok, but they must have an email form. M fills out the email form, and as he's about to send, hits the next snag: in order to submit an email form, guess what you have to have? That's right! a password (ba-dum-dum!)
Almost at the same time, Skype sends M a message saying that they've noticed he hasn't gone into his account for several months, and that, the credit in it, if not used by X days, will expire. Oh, the cruel, cruel world... I debated the prospect of making a video a la united breaks guitars, but I can't play guitar and I can't be bothered to write (or sing) a song for the world to see, and to be honest, I can't compete with Dave Carroll. More than anything, I'd just like to get skype working again. Anyone have any ideas?

It's Time

2009-08-22T12:05:00.002-04:00

I could try to write something more beautiful, more profound about Ramadan, but sometimes it's better to recognize when someone has already found the perfect words, and just borrow them:

This month is a feast... not of noise, but of silence; not of banquets but restraint; not of forgetfullness but remembrance. This month is a feast for the faith. - Tariq Ramadan

I came across her writing

2009-08-19T22:14:00.002-04:00

in a note on facebook, and though I hadn't seen her in a decade, though I couldn't quite place her location, her life, I felt I knew her essence again, could here her soft voice, her rising cadence, rushing forward, then retreating, as though each sentence was brought by the tide.
And I was transported to old coffee-houses during lit, to high school, to what was, oddly, my best writing time, the period in my life when I could, when I had the luxury, to bend over my notebook for seconds, turning into minutes, into hours, just to find the right word to fit the end of a line, a sentence, a feeling or thought.
I thought I was so tired then, so overworked, with my grade 11 lit and my algebra-geometry homework, with history and physics and world issues. I didn't know where I'd find the time to memorize Shakespeare and solve problems 3 a - i. I was overwhelmed.
It's almost laughable in hindsight, this emotion, this sense of purpose when I hadn't lived enough to have enough to write. And now, with something worth putting down, with my own stories, I am too afraid. If I share, will I be recognized? Do I want the recognition?
We are all afraid, have moments of defeat, of sadness or uncertainty, but we so rarely put them out there, so rarely want to use them as material.
I used to say, "I wrote this, but don't worry, I'm happy;" used to say, "don't worry, this isn't about me"; and usually it wasn't, but isn't life just a series of small joys and small disappointments building into larger moments? Isn't it normal in the day to have a moment where you don't have a clue, where you want to just stop? and then another where you could go and go and go to the ends of the round earth, where you would have to crash into a brick wall not to keep going?
She wrote about her life, and I could hear her in her words and I could see her brushing a wisp of straight black hair behind her ear as she read. I imagine one hand holding the paper, the other randomly reaching up to touch her head. Funny how we remember certain nervous habits, how her voice is still in my mind so many years later. How I can see her smile.
I told myself I wouldn't write for a living. I told myself I would write for life.

Who Knew?

2009-08-09T12:19:00.003-04:00

Yesterday M and I and a few of our friends went for a bike trip around the downtown/lachine canal area of Montreal. It was supposed to take a couple of hours, 3 max. 6 hours later we were heading home with extremely sore legs, sunburns, hunger pangs, and huge smiles. I've biked along the Lachine canal before, but never past St-Pierre (the point where Highway 20 meets highway 138). Yesterday, we continued well past that point, and were rewarded by our discovery of Parc Rene Levesque, an absolutely gorgeous little peninsula off Lasalle, sticking out into the river.
On our way back downtown, we left the canal and rode back along the river path itself, through Lasalle and Verdun.
All I can say is that Montreal has surpassed my expectations for natural beauty and gorgeous, quiet neighbourhoods I didn't know existed. I'm somewhat in love with my adopted city right now. Stunning, and totally bikeable.

P.S. My sisters are back home in Cali and Dubai respectively. I miss them insanely but I'm surprisingly not bawling my eyes out every 5 seconds. I'm shocked at my resilience.

Acapella at its best

2009-08-03T17:20:00.000-04:00

The whole thing is pretty impressive, but if you don't want to watch the whole vid, the first minute and 50 seconds are the coolest...

Going Home

2009-08-02T14:53:00.003-04:00

On Thursday, all the angels go home (along with their parents, of course). I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, this flocking away, as though fall is here and the birds are leaving for warmer climates. I know Wednesday night will be hard. I've already warned my friends at work that I if they see me crying next Thursday, they know why...
Next summer, God Willing, each of the angels will be one year older, and one year wiser (although I'm not sure wise applies to anyone under 10, or even 20, and they're not even close. Maybe a better term would be 'one year more equipped to deal with the big bad world'?)
The two terrible two-ers will be terrible three-ers, approaching pre-school-hood, getting close to truer interactions with the world.
My oldest Angela will have finished first grade (first grade!), and she'll show off her reading with confidence and look up with that precious smile after hard words (her "did you hear that? Did you see that?" smile).
My oldest Angel just might manage to sit still a bit longer, having spent another year in kindergaarten and so becoming more familiar with desks, but honestly, this I doubt.
My little Angela won't be little anymore, she'll be a whole 4 and a half, and she'll keep doing her best "little grown up" immitations, and acting as though she's one of the big people, and pretending the terrible two-ers are her children.
I'm missing them already.

Kids say the darndest things

2009-07-21T16:20:00.002-04:00

Still on vacay (horror of horrors, Calabogie now has internet! I'm trying not to over use it, but this was just tooooooooooooooo good not to share).
A scene from the beach:
Dubai-Mommy sitting on the beach with Dubai-Angel, while Grandma, Dubai-Angela and yours truly are swimming in the lake.
Dubai-Mommy: Angela, 10 more minutes and it's time to get out for a nap time.
Dubai-Angela (to Mommy): Okay. (To Grandma): Grandma, I want you to get out with me
Grandma: to nap?
Dubai-Angela: no, to work.
Yours truly: it's vacation! Grandma's not working.
Grandma: what would I do.
Dubai-Angela: well, you could always cook dinner, for example...

Sigh...

And We're Off!

2009-07-17T16:34:00.002-04:00

It's that time of the year again - Calabogie is just a few hours away. It's our crazy family reunion (although we've *mostly* all seen each other in the past couple of weeks as the various parts of my family trickle into Ottawa from Dubai and Cali, it's not official until we're sitting around the dinner table - elbowing each other and asking someone to pass the salt/salad/water, with the windows open and the lake just a few steps away).
M and I are tacking a little weekend getaway to TO on the end of the week, to hang out with his folks and the always articulate K.
I hope to come back refreshed and sunburnt (and, ideally, with a pile of great nature photos and hilarious stories about my little angels discovering nature.)
Talk to y'all in a few days!

Once Again, he just says it so well

2009-07-12T21:00:00.000-04:00

So, a few of days ago I was opining about how I was too hooked on technology, and then last night, I read this hilarious little gem from Scott Feschuk. I couldn't get through the last two paragraphs in one go because I was laughing so hard my eyes couldn't focus. I would LOVE to have this man's sense of humour. Since I don't, I'm point you straight to him for the article.

Little Angel Sandwiches

2009-07-12T20:40:00.003-04:00

My current goal in life is to be the favourite aunt of my nieces and nephews. The way I approach this is to be around often enough that they see me, but not so often that I have a lot of opportunities (or need) to punish them for misbehaving.
This last week, I was in Ottawa from Monday instead of Tuesday for a course, and just got home tonight... My nieces and nephews, all 5 of them, were extremely thrilled to have me. (Part of the mystique was, of course, that I disappeared every morning at 10 a.m. and wasn't back before 6'ish).
At dinner, I would often find myself the pb and j in a Little Angela sandwich, seated between my California Angela and my Dubai Angela, each cutie-patootie doing her best to out-talk the other. More than dinner, though, was bedtime... The girls, especially, each had to have their night where they slept next to "Khalto Noosa" (or thought they slept next to me all night. I would lie there until they drifted off to sleep, and then get up to continue my evening.)
One night, though, was especially funny: it was Cali-Angela's turn for me to sleep next to her, and as we lay there, Dubai-Angela found an excuse to come into the room, and, eventually, got permission to sleep there too. She made her way to the other side of me, and put an arm across my shoulder. By this point, we had told our bedtime stories, read our Quran, and were in 'silent mode'. Cali-Angela was lying quietly on my left side, trying to fall asleep, but Dubai-Angela had no such plans.
She started by stroking my shoulder lovingly and repeatedly, as though I was the child and she was the aunt and she was the one putting me to bed. And for some reason, probably because I was trying to be completely silent and pretend I was asleep, this gave me the giggles. I tried to laugh silently, but she could feel me shaking, which, in turn, caused her to start laughing, and the whole idea of sleep was then in jeopardy - a laughing 3-year old stands very little chance of calming down at bed time.
By this time, Cali-Angela noticed that Dubai-Angela was practically hugging me, and there is nothing a little girl wants more than something another little girl - especially her cousin - has. So now they were both hugging me. Problem: if they ever feel asleep, how would extract myself from the tangle of arms and legs without waking them up...
When I finally managed to calm myself, Dubai-Angela upped the ante, leaning over and whispering, in her newly acquired English and her best angelic voice, "I love you Khalto Noosa". I laughed. She laughed. Cali-Angela laughed. and so the evening continued and sleep seemed very, very far away...
It was 40 minutes before I got out of the now-sleeping Angela sandwich. The next night, the sandwich was an Angel sandwich. Small sacrifice for the return, really.

One Trash Bin + One Year

2009-06-26T14:50:00.003-04:00

These people put me to shame. I need to - at the very least - recycle more. And think about it before I go around buying things I don't really need. and figure out how to get rid of things I don't want anymore in the best way possible (as in, donate to people who need the stuff, organizations, freecycle, etc.)
Seriously, one garbage bin's worth of trash all year. 1!!!!
For more details and a consistent dose of inspiration, I've added their blog to the blogroll: Clean Bin Project.
Enjoy.

Power Out

2009-06-25T19:48:00.003-04:00

Do you know that song, Power Out, by The Arcade Fire? That was my evening yesterday, in Ottawa.
First, let me set the stage: the day before, I had arrived at my parents' place after work and it was alive. The Angels, all five of them, ran to the door to greet me. The oldest California Angela let me in before I had finished rummaging for my keys. Her baby brother blocked me by trying to run out to hug me. It was lovely.
All evening, the place was buzzing. Kids playing/fighting/singing/screaming/exchanging toys/yanking toys out of each other's hands, and their moms (and my mom and dad) preparing for a little trip they were going to take to Toronto. So, Tuesday, a house with 5 children 6 and under, and 5 adults. Wednesday, me.
My plan, early on in the day, involved a trip to the gym after work, but as it got closer to quitting time, the heat had taken its toll on me. I felt like I was melting, and had no interest in getting any hotter. So I went home instead. At the grocery store in the plaza next to my parent's house, I bought two oranges and went in search of their spelt bread (the store has just changed hands, which means some of our "alternative" products are usually eliminated or modified... I have to say, the new company is not as interested in providing the allergy free stuff as the old one was) I was walking up the last aisle when the power cut. Darkness. Kinda refreshing, actually.
They were still able to check me through at the cash, but when I got home, I realized it wasn't just the plaza, it was the whole neighbourhood.
I could read, right? well, I could, but I didn't feel like it. I wanted radio. I wanted noise. The problem was that my mp3 player's battery was almost dead, and all the other radios in the house worked off electricity. No good. I used my laptop until the battery died (25 minutes, no internet, obviously). I switched to my dad's laptop. 25 more minutes. I dug up the flashlight ad emergency candles, in case. I sat there feeling pathetic that I didn't know what to do without outside stimulus. But I didn't.
In Montreal, I would have gone for a bike ride. In Ottawa, I have no bike. I eventually went back to the plaza to find their power returned before it did at the house.
I am resolved to find some way to not need technology so much. But right now, what I have is proof of dependency.
I'm writing this from Montreal, on my now-charged laptop, with another window open on another blog, a third on facebook, and a fourth on my email. Must stop?

More Little Angels

2009-06-20T17:33:00.002-04:00

My parent's house is like a playground, but in 3 more days, it will be like a small, Montessori-style daycare. Dubai-sis, with her two little angels, has been here for nearly two months. Cali-sis is on her way in a few days, with her three little angels. I am insanely excited at the prospect.
It's been a year since the various munchkins interacted, and a year is a life time for small children.
The two youngest, born a month less a day apart, were one when they last met... that was old enough to kind of laugh together and crawl around each other, with the possibility of tentative steps occurring. This time, they'll be over two. I predict one way conversations, where each rambles in his version of baby-talk to the other and then doesn't wait to see what his cousin has to say back before continuing.
The three older angels will be 6, 5, and 3.5, respectively. In the year they've been apart, both my female Dubai Angela and California Angela have become more enamoured with clothing, brushing their hair, and the colours pink and purple. My Dubai Angela has even modified an old Egyptian saying to stress the importance of pink:
Bahibbik add il-donya - meaning "I love as much as the whole world", has been modified to bahibbik add il-bamba - meaning "I love you as much as pink".
We'll have to see whether the Angelas gang up on the Angel and insist on games revolving around tea time and bows in their hair, or whether he'll manage to entice them with a little bit of tag...
Regardless, children are a blast to observe... I'm planning on having some fun.

Wow! (and not in a good way)

2009-06-17T18:35:00.000-04:00

Okay, so by this point, I'm seeming borderline obsessed with the Obamas, but this was too horrible to ignore. I'm just thinking, really? Honestly? Hmmmm... I'm saying hmmm because I don't want to say anything nastier, or more horrible, but I'm also honestly perplexed that someone could percieve this as a joke. That someone could consider this funny. Apparently, there are still people who consider a comparison of African Americans and apes amusing.
We are so not as far along as I like to delude myself into thinking. Gross.

Is Barack Obama Ruining your Marriage?

2009-06-16T18:01:00.000-04:00

Apparently, he's ruining this guy's marriage... It seems the gentleman who wrote this article is a little miffed that people compare Mr. Pres to the average guy who doesn't have Air Force One at his disposal for a quick trip to New York or Paris, never mind the cooks, maids, and gardeners.
Good for a quick laugh, and more evidence of how Obama has somehow morphed into the perfect-everything, not just a model politician, in the minds of the media.

Concrete Canvass

2009-05-31T17:40:00.003-04:00

This is, I guess, one way to protest. And a good way, I think.

The Pot and the Kettle

2009-05-29T22:58:00.004-04:00

Let it be known that I prefer Iggy to Harper. Let it also be known that I still find Iggy a little too self-important (and I have a story to elaborate on my point, but that'll be a post for another day). In the meantime, I give you this laugh-out-loud article from Scott Feschuk comparing Iggy's hyperbole to Harper's arrogance.

Well, at least now I have a new record to break for next time...

2009-05-03T13:25:00.002-04:00

I broke. At 2 a.m. this morning, despite trying to satisfy my sweet-tooth craving with raisins and walnuts and repeatedly telling myself to just go to sleep Noha. Nothing good can come of this, I opened the freezer and reached for - gasp! - the cookies and cream ice cream. It wasn't a rash decision. My mind knew full well what my hands were doing. I even stopped to calculate how far I'd gotten, to decide if the number of consecutive allergy-free days was respectable enough to break now, or if I should hold off a little longer. 49 days. Respectable. I had the cookies and cream ice cream. I had some chocolate fudge brownie ice cream too, for good measure. And then, only then, did I finally go to sleep.
I won't lie. They tasted positively divine, but if I was expecting harps playing in the background, or the sensation of being carried off to some dessert-flavoured, chocolate-based, culinary heaven, it didn't happen. Things you can't have always seem soooooooooooooooooo much better than what you can.
I woke up with a stomach-ache this morning, but I suppose I earned it. I've also decided that today is a day off. A day to allow myself to indulge in whatever else so that tomorrow, when I start again, I'm not already craving things. I've basically decided that I'm failing today to succeed later. Twisted logic? Maybe. An excuse to stuff myself with anything and everything today? Also maybe. But a funny thing is happening so far: I've had a slice of cheesecake that was in the fridge, left over from a visit we had on Friday, and nothing else. I've been down to press cafe, and looked at the brownies and cupcakes, felt nothing, and ordered my usual coffee. I think I'll end up getting something else, something gooey and chewy and wheat-based, and chocolatey-sweet, before the day is over. But if I don't, it'll be okay because I know how to make the wheat-free, dairy-free, processed-sugar-free version from scratch now. And tomorrow I'll start over. And while last time, my goal was to go as long as I could, this time, I'll have a number in mind. I want to get to 50 days of allergy-free food. At least. 50 days and beyond. Far, far beyond.

Surprise!

2009-05-02T22:39:00.002-04:00

When I said my sister and her kids' arrival from Dubai was pending, I meant pending. Last Monday, Dubai-sis and the Little Angels arrived in Montreal as part of a little surprise for my parents, who weren't expecting them for another two weeks. The accomplices in our little plan were my sis and her hubby in Dubai (well, they were actually the engineers, the rest of us were accomplices) and my sister and I, plus our hubbies, here in Montreal. We've been keeping our little secret for months, casually fake-counting-down the days until their arrival with my parents, and finally, the day had arrived.

At the airport, my sister's flight arrived shortly after another one from Mexico city, and the cbc was there to cover the Mexico flight given the whole swine flu, thing, so we were hanging back as we waited for her, hoping that my parents wouldn't happen to be watching the news on cbc that night... She told us later that the porter who helped bring her bags out walked really slowly so as not to come in contact with "the mexicans" as he would say it, and kept telling her to keep the kids back. Now, my dear sis makes a point of avoiding the news (too depressing, she'll tell you) and had essentially spent the last two days in transit. When she'd left Dubai, the story was still breaking. By the time she'd arrived, it was everywhere, but she'd missed the whole thing. All she could think was "why is my porter racist? How unfortunate..."

I took Tuesday off work, rented a van, and she and I drove up with the little angels alternately fighting and falling asleep in the backseat. We called my parents when we were about 40 minutes away, and they were confused, then surprised, then thrilled. My mom actually figured we were on some sort of three way conference call when she heard my sister's voice on my phone.

Now, they're here for the next three months. Next up is my california-sis and her little angels' arrival in late June. It's gonna be a par-tay!

I had figured I would cry when we saw each other at the airport, but the reality was that it just felt so natural, so as though we'd never been halfway across the world from each other, that I just fell right back into my routine with everyone. I'm pleased to report that Little Angela still adores me just as much as I adore her, and she's trained Little Angel well. Whereas she calls me "Khalto Noosa", he - in his two-year-old manner of pronunciation, calls me "Katto Nooda" (this is a full-fledged graduation from "Nonno", what he called me last year as a one-year-old before they moved, and equally adorable).

So, spreading the joy and reporting on the beginnings of a fabulous summer of aunthood. More stories to come, I'm sure.

Heartmelting ensues...

2009-04-27T17:03:00.002-04:00

One of the perks of having a blog is that I have a forum for going on an on about the most adorable kids in the world (another perk is that since it's my blog, I can be completely biased and call them the most adorable kids in the world with no regard for the complete subjectivity of this statement.) I speak, of course, about my little angels and angels.
The latest heartmelting story comes from Little Angel #4 (if I'm going chronologically - really Little Boy Angel #2 since I call the girls Little Angela's), and in honour of their pending arrival from Dubai, I share this "aaawwww" moment. I apologize to Dubai-sis in advance for inaccuracies in this story. I got it 2nd or 3rd hand from our parents:
Dubai-sis was showing the kids some family pics on the computer, and Little Angel, who's just barely turned 2, and can be sort of understood, tells her, "I miss grandpa. I want to give him a kiss". Dubai-sis says to go ahead and blow grandpa a kiss and Little Angel does.
Next picture, same comment. "I miss uncle X. I want to give him a kiss". And Dubai-sis obliges of course. This goes on for a few more pics before Little Angel looks up at his mom and says something she can't quite make out. She assumes he's just saying he wants to give another kiss and says okay. Suddenly Little Angel is trying to climb up onto the table and the computer feet first. She asks him what he's doing, and Little Angel's response is, "I'm going in."

Oh, to be this smug

2009-04-23T21:44:00.004-04:00

For my fellow Canadian readers, check out this 22 minutes spoof of our-almost-definitely-next-prime-minister.
For the rest, you may have heard of Michael Ignatieff. An academic, he lived in the U.S. forever and then swooped back into his home country (that would be Canada) when the possibility of becoming the leader of a major party (that would be the Liberals) became available a couple of years ago. Sadly for Iggy, a different professor - the hapless but sincere Stephane Dion - surprised everyone by winning that Liberal leadership race. Then, happily for Iggy, Dion essentially promoted a policy that would tax carbon emissions in the following elections, and despite Canadian citizens' posturing that they wanted to pay attention to the environment, they certainly didn't want to do it at the expense of money, so the Liberals crashed and burned. End result, Iggy was handed the Liberal leadership on a silver platter following the election. Now, with the governing Conservative party waning in popularity, it's only a matter of time before Iggy brings down parliament and starts the next election cycle, which he will almost definitely win (whew! and you Americans thought your system was frustrating and demotivating).
My brother-in-law, K, showed us this hilarious Ignatieff impersonation from This Hour Has 22 Minutes (basically the closest thing Canada has to the Daily Show). It's frighteningly spot on.

Happy Earth Day

2009-04-22T18:32:00.000-04:00

M and I watched An Inconvenient Truth last weekend. Wow. Depressing. Important. Scary. Effective.
In honour of Earth Day, I suggest everyone watches it. And then act on that fear. We had already switched most of our light bulbs to the EFC bulbs, but now we're going to switch the rest. And buy green cleaning products. and wash with cold water. and install low-flow aerators on our faucets. We have no car and we bike/walk a lot, so we feel okay on the transportation front.
I encourage everyone to ask themselves what they can do.

It's Open

2009-04-20T20:38:00.002-04:00

Remember this? It's finally open. Day 1 today. and they have TV's. Showing hockey. Heaven.

Zen and the Art of Sitting Still

2009-04-18T20:26:00.003-04:00

Okay, so the truth is that this post has nothing to do with Zen, but I can't think of a sentence that includes "the art of" and not start it with "Zen". It's the tail end of flu season here in the wonderful Ontario/Quebec region of Toronto/Ottawa/Montreal. I include all three areas because M and I were in TO for a fabulous long weekend last week hanging out with my awesomely extended family, but towards the end of the weekend, I caught some sort of lovely bug. At first, I couldn't figure out what I had, but as Sunday rolled into Monday (and Tuesday, and Wednesday), I felt like I was running the slightest fever, followed by general icky-ness, sore-throatedness, congestion, headaches, you name it.
Everything was unpleasant enough to make me a general grouch, but not enough to keep me at home sick. By Thursday afternoon, I thought I was back on the upswing, and had high hopes for a long bike ride in Montreal on Friday after work. Not so: Friday, I crashed and burned. My body had had enough. Sleep! it screamed at me. Sit still. and so I did, for basically the whole day. and then M came home from work and made me a cup of peppermint tea and we watched a movie and then I slept more.
I got up this morning at 10 a.m. feeling like a new person. Energy? For reals? and I was so pleased with it. So pleased I felt I needed to load the dishwasher, and pull out the dustbuster, and gather a few other things that were here and there and needed doing. And then M asked me, ever so thoughtfully to please.just.sit.still.
Hmmmm, good point. The man is on to something. See, I'm obsessed with multi-tasking. I can't just ever be watching the hockey game or writing a blog post. I do both at the same time (like, right now... the Habs are down 2-0. Not pleased. Trying to stay on topic). I can't cook one meal at a time. I usually put 3 things on the stove together, or I cook while I'm on the phone. Read and/or write and/or eat on the commuter bus. Same for the OC transpo bus when I'm in Ottawa. Even at work, I rarely have one window open at a time. I like to switch between 3 or 4 tasks so I don't get bored. I find I get more done this way, except....
Except when I'm sick. Then I'm supposed to sit still. Right? Right. It actually took about 3 hours yesterday to settle back down and get into bed. I kept not being able to stay still long enough to go to sleep, even though my body was exhausted and my eyes were drooping. And today, the second the energy was back, it was like I couldn't possibly read a book or watch something.
Productivity is good, but I think I need to settle down and read my body's signals. Relax. I sat still to write this post for the last 30 minutes, so there's improvement there, right?
Oh, and the score is still 2-0.

Anywhere but here

2009-04-15T18:48:00.003-04:00

I've cited good articles in MacLean's magazine before, and this one is my latest favourite. Paul Wells talks about Stephen Harper's latest penchant for getting the heck out of Canada to avoid those pesky reporters that, you know, cover his government and report back on it. They even ask him questions - gasp!
A couple of months ago, my father-in-law sent us all a link to an interview Harper had done on MSNBC about the Canadian economy. I watched, expecting not much of anything. What I saw really surprised me: here was my prime minister speaking to a tv audience and answering questions as though those watching at home were intelligent adults. Not what he does when he's in Canada, eh? Have you ever noticed that Harper talks to us, his electorate, as though we're two year-olds on the verge of a tantrum and he's the kind, calming father? Looks straight into the camera, offers that fake smile meant to reassure and goes back through a few, repeatable selling points about whatever his latest five-point plan is regardless of the question? Asking about the environment or unemployment? No problem, we've got an answer for you! and that's why our plan to lower the gst will make everything better and the sky will be filled with rainbows and the clouds will rain cupcakes on the streets of Toronto. It's like we're in permanent election mode (and to be fair, with a minority government, we are. But still, I will get more out of your answers if you actually answer the question!)
What started of as pleasant surprise actually turned into frustration. So it's not that he thinks the entire world is composed of idiots, I thought, just us. But seriously, no one under 18 is allowed a vote in this country the last time I checked. I wish he'd remember that the next time he tries to woo us with 5 word phrases on perma-repeat.

Family Evolution

2009-04-12T17:51:00.001-04:00

When I was a child, my family in Canada consisted of my parents and sisters; the closest relatives we had were an uncle in the U.S. that we saw on occasion and his family. We took trips to Egypt to visit extended family every few years, but in reality we made family in Ottawa to compensate. I think back over my childhood - all the way up to university - and lose count of the "aunts" who became my aunts, the girls my age who acted as substitute cousins. These were the people we spent our special occasions with: the people we saw during Eid and Ramadan and grew up around. In some ways, they were more than family, because we had chosen each other; in other ways, they would never really be family, and we each had our distinct, nuclear units because at the end of the day, we only had a certain common history, and no common blood.
I remember my excitement when my mother's youngest brother moved to Ottawa, how absolutely thrilled I was that I could start a story with "my uncle" at school, and really, truly mean "my uncle" and not a friend of the family. I remember how thrilled I was when my baby cousin was born and I had an actual cousin to play with and coo at within driving distance. In some bizarre way, the presence of relatives in the city validated Ottawa as my home. I had family here, close by.

Over the years, it became normal. My Canadian family grew as more cousins and second cousins made the move. Eid became a celebration at our house where, instead of my parents trying to find a way to surround us with company, we tried to figure out how to seat everyone around the table. My parents' house became the "family house", the house where everyone came together for events and holidays, the equivalent of my grandparents' house with the massive veranda in Alexandria. When my sisters got married, the family grew again in the form of brothers and their families. Until that point, my only experience with brothers was through my male cousins, who played rough with us and pushed us in sports and up trees on our visits to Egypt. Two cousins in particular served as my older brothers, teasing and joking with us through out the years. As they got older, they would come to North America to work in the summers, and then stop by Ottawa to visit for a couple of weeks before they returned for the fall semester.

Eventually, the older one moved to Ottawa; two months ago, the younger one moved to Toronto. Last night, he and his family came to visit at my in-laws' place, where we're visiting in TO for the long weekend. There was something remarkably unremarkable about looking around the living room, seeing M and his family and my "original older brother" and his family there all in one place, a new family extension forming.

When I was little, I could count on one hand my extended family in north america. At one point, I couldn't even do that. I now need both hands and feet to do it, and I love it.

Nailbiting

2009-04-09T21:33:00.003-04:00

The habs need one point between tonight and Saturday. They're leading by 1 goal with 20 minutes left. I'm glued to the radio and Mike Boone's hilarious blog.
If they win, or tie in regulation, tonight, they're into the playoffs and we avoid this.
If they lose, it goes down to Saturday night and Noha is nervous all weekend. My little sis, who lives down the street and just as close to the Bell Centre as I do, wants them NOT to make the play-offs so that we don't have to deal with bad traffic into the spring. I am die hard; I will bear the traffic for my beloved team. I will bear any annoyances of downtown life, including honking horns and too much noise at 2 a.m. post game... In fact, if it's because of a win, I will not only bear it, I will revel in it.
Go Habs Go!

Heheh... the world of the nanoblog

2009-04-05T19:44:00.001-04:00

I couldn't resist. I had to post this. Too funny:

Eat Green, Be Green

2009-04-03T23:07:00.002-04:00

Everyone knows I like me some meat, but I also think that there is something to be said for our meat consumption in North America, and the effects it has on our health and our environment. I found this article on the topic absolutely fascinating.
My bottom line after reading something like this? Everything in moderation. Factory farming is nasty, not to mention cruel, and the ugly truth is that, without it, we would never be able to consume as much meat as we do today. To my mind, the way nature intended it, meat is meant to be eaten, but not with the frequency we eat it.
Do I have the self control to cut it down to the levels I think are ideal? Probably not, but I think the article points out that even small changes could make a big difference.
Good night. I'm off to eat my lentil soup.

A Word About Will Power

2009-03-28T17:44:00.004-04:00

I'm on day 14 of my sugar-free, wheat-free, dairy-free diet. This week I endured

a friend's baby shower at work, where home baked cake, breaded chicken wings, and a traditional kosovar bread-roll of some sort were being served - on Wednesday
the left-overs of said baby shower on Thursday, and
a benefit event to raise money for Palestine - where the food being sold came in the form of sandwiches, tarts and butter rolls, and brownies, on Friday

Today, I subjected myself to cake-baking. No one told me to make the cake, I just really wanted to make it. For the first time in probably my life, I didn't lick the left over batter off the pan. Instead, I made a second batch of cake for myself where I replaced the wheat flour with Kamut flour, the milk with almond milk, and the sugar with stevia (big mistake about the stevia, horrible aftertaste, but now I know to use honey for next time)...
I haven't cheated yet. I think what stops me is that I've made it all so public. If I broke down now, I'd have to tell you all. I'd have to post it to Facebook. I'd have to start counting at 1 again. If I only had myself to tell, I would have broken down at least 5 or 6 times by now. I'm sure of this because I've made the "no more allergens" promise to myself countless times before. I've typically made it to mid-morning of the same day the promise is made; on the days my will power has been phenomenal, I've made it to just before bed time. But in the end, I've always caved.
I like to think this isn't just my lack of will power, but how humans work in general. We need to own up to someone or we cave. I've figured out what makes me tick, what motivates me. I know I'll break sooner or later, but my plan right now is to go on for as long as I can. And when I break, my plan is to announce it, lick my wounds, and start over. It's worth it. I feel so much healthier. And it's easier every day.

7 Days Done

2009-03-22T14:01:00.003-04:00

So I told you about the 7 day challenge I gave myself last week to avoid wheat, sugar, and dairy products. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now on Day 8!
In total honesty, I didn't really think I'd get this far. Sure, I might have been able to make it on the weekend, or on my first Monday, when I was working from home, but on Tuesday, I was back in the Ottawa office, with the pharma plus, in all its Toblerone-selling glory, and the Marcello's, with its rice pudding and nanaimo bars and apple fritters and chocolate chip muffins. Well, at 2 p.m., as the afternoon yawning came in, I went down and got a coffee and some celery sticks. Yup, celery sticks...
Wednesday and Thursday were similar. On Friday, I spent most of the day in the Montreal office, and had to walk by the best bakery ever 5 times, without buying anything I couldn't eat. I discovered that the Pharma Prix sells almond and date bars in the back of the store. I checked the ingredients. I bought two. They were yummy, if overpriced, but they helped me get through the day...
7 days may sound like not a big deal, but before I started this, I was eating "allergy food" nearly every day, often more than once a day, so I'm really, really relieved to have gotten this far...
Oatmeal is one of my best friends when I'm craving dessert. Put some dates or berries in it, sprinkle a little cinnamon or cocoa on top, and it's gooey like something baked would be, and just sweet enough.
My next goal is to hit next Sunday. If I get there, that's 14 days. I'll keep you posted.

If you're confused about the Credit Crisis, watch this...

2009-03-20T11:21:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty responsible with managing my own personal money, but when it comes to economics or the global financial crisis, I'm essentially a first-grader, no matter how much I try to read up on it. If you want to actually understand what the heck happened and why we're all going to be poor (sorry to be such a debbie-downer, but someone has to face the cold harsh truth), watch this video. I think I FINALLY understand what's going on.

The Crisis of Credit Visualized from Jonathan Jarvis on Vimeo.

Tales of Geekdom from the Unapologetic

2009-03-19T20:06:00.004-04:00

This is the post where I come clean about my true identity, and finally say loud and clear that I am, indeed, a geek. Now, you may have already figured it out from my "100 things about Noha" post, where I admitted to being a grammar obsessed comma queen, and loving the parentheses (especially the nested ones), or corny jokes, or run-on sentences (see the sentence you're reading right now for evidence - no, proof!), but maybe you thought all my geek-characteristics were purely linguistic. Well, I'm here to tell you otherwise.

This week, it really dawned on me that I'm a geek on sooooooooooo many other levels than just my linguistic quirks, starting primarily with my academic geekiness. While I constantly tell myself that I could never do grad school (unlike my PhD-pursuing hubby), and while I shuddered one time when he actually asked me if I remembered what the sine of e-squared (or something like that) was, I will admit to loving (LOVING!) my third year logic and discrete mathematics course.

Deductive logic was honestly, truly a thing of beauty, a marvel to me. I would sit there in the front row (yes, by choice), hanging on to the professors every word as he showed us one incredible proof after another, scrawling formulas down the page until at the bottom - bang! - everything just balanced. I remember how he would turn before writing the last line on the board and wink at us, and say "nothing up my sleeve" and some of the students would role their eyes. Not me, I was entranced. To me, that line where everything balanced, where the right side of the equals-sign and the left side of the equals-sign suddenly fell into perfect synergy was like the part in a book with 10 pages left where you suddenly get exactly how it's going to end, and yet you have to read on just to respect the author's genius, or that last scene of the sixth sense when the twist becomes evident and you're shaking your head in shock (and yet delighted!), and you're telling yourself "Oh my God! I didn't see that coming! Did I see that coming?" and then you replay the whole thing in your head trying to figure out exactly when you started to figure it out...

And this is how I feel about deductive logic, ergo, I am a geek.

I did the same thing when I started comparing my programming and design logic to the philosophy notes my sister (a psychology major) took. And-Or constructs in programming where just another way of talking about necessary and sufficient conditions in philosophy. Philosophy and math were the same thing, and to me, this discovery was another little miracle.

I love finding connections. It's hard to describe beyond that, but I think that all disciplines in science and art are very intertwined and it's just for us to delight in finding the links....

Today, I stood in my boss's office for about 5 minutes at mid-morning, staring at her marker-covered whiteboard and shaking my head with a similar level of satisfaction. We were both doing it, looking at the board, happily, and telling each other how beautiful it was... "beautiful" one of us would say. "It's beautiful, just beautiful. It all fits together" the other would respond. We've been working on a problem for a few weeks and it started off as a huge mess of seemingly random information, and now we've found a little box for each piece of the 'random' information and the pieces fit in the boxes, and there are links. It was beautiful, and we couldn't stop repeating it. So the highlight of my day was seeing the pieces click together on the beginnings of a process model that has been hurting my head and running me ragged for the last little while. and after 5 minutes of being pleased, we laughed at ourselves and realized that the process model wasn't going to implement itself, (in fact, was still in the early stages of development), and I walked out to make phone calls and fill out spreadsheets of information... But happily. Maybe the geeks out there will understand?

P.S. My food challenge is still going. I haven't eaten any dairy, wheat, or sugar-products for 5 days (with the exeption of a few drops of milk in my coffee...)

The Crazy Subliminal Cucumber Post

2009-03-16T16:37:00.002-04:00

Cucumber would have to be one of those vegetables I rarely eat. It's good in salads, but M's not a fan, and when I buy them they end up going bad before I get through the small package of 4 or the one massive one. Plus, you can't cook cucumbers, so you can't salvage the slowly wilting veggie by slicing and dicing and throwing it in a pot, right?
Well, it would seem that cucumber is subliminally trying to convince both myself and a friend of mine that it can indeed be cooked or baked. The evidence:
Situation A
Last week, I was describing to my mom the vegetable soup I was planning to make as part of dinner for a little dinner party M and I were having on Friday night (random note: I ended up making cream of mushroom soup. M made the most divine chicken. No one could believe he'd cooked it. We have left overs. I'm in heaven.) So, as I'm describing the soup, I say it has diced onions, celery, cucumbers, only I'm saying all of this in Arabic, and my mom goes "Wha?? Cucumbers? WHY are you putting cucumbers in your soup?"
To which I respond, "I always put cucumbers in my soup. I got it from you. YOU always put cucumbers in your soup" and she shakes her head profusely and we continue to have this debate for 5 minutes before my little sis says "I thought M didn't like cucumbers?"
I start to answer that "no, no, M doesn't like.... oh, wait, M doesn't like cucumbers". At which point I realise that I've been saying cucumber all along when I meant to be saying carrot. Cucumber in soup jokes ensue for the remainder of the evening.

Situation B
I have been eating everything on my allergy list with complete abandon on and off for about 2 months and I have decided to put an end to it with a 7-day no wheat, no dairy, no sugar challenge to myself. For moral support, and to hold myself accountable, I posted this to my status on facebook and my friends have been very good in cheering me on. So much so that one of them offered me her "cucumber cookie" recipe.... Now, having just had this cucumbers-don't-cook conversation with my sis and mother, I am very skeptical, and ask her what on earth this could possibly be. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking there's a teensy possibility that a cucumber cookie does in fact exist in some alternate raw food vegan universe, but I'm just doubtful that my friend belongs to this universe. Well, ta-dah! I'm right. Friend meant zucchini cookie. She sent the recipe too. it looks divine, but it has butter, sugar, and wheat flour... I could substitute. I might give an alternate version of the recipe a try. if I do, and it's edible. I will post.

So there you have it folks. Cucumbers are feeling the heat (or they aren't and badly want to be... hardy-har-har).

Ah, to be a litte girl

2009-03-14T12:56:00.003-04:00

I write a lot about my Little Angela in Dubai, and her kid brother the little angel, but I think most of you know I have a Bigger-But-Still-Little Angela in California too (not to mention her two little angel kid brothers)...
BBS (Bigger But Still) Little Angela is 5, going on six in a month. She's in Kindergarten, and to listen to the conversation she had with my mother on Wednesday night, you would want to be her age again, and back in Kindergarten... I hadn't spoken to BBS Little Angela in months, so the conversation was extra-amusing for me. My favourite parts:

"Grandma, can you send me a letter with a picture in it? I'm going to draw you a picture and send it to you in a letter first and then you can write me back."
"Grandma, do you have Mama's address so you can send the letter?" (Always skeptical)
"Grandma, can you also buy me a a beaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful blouse from the market?" (and people, I wrote beautiful that way because I swear, that's how she said it. The moment she said beautiful, I felt like we were out of the actual conversation and in a fairy tale where they were talking about the "beaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuutiful princess").
When Grandma asks what colour the blouse should be: "Oh, a beaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuutiful pink blouse. But if you can't find pink, it can be purple or white or any other colour" (so the key here again people, is that the blouse just needs to be "beaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful")
And my favourite, as the phone call is winding down: "Grandma, I have to go now, because I have to watch TV"

Where do I get a time machine? Are they accepting applications to be 5 again somewhere?

I want my hour back!

2009-03-08T11:18:00.003-04:00

This weekend, we turned the clocks forward to daylight savings time, and while we won't have to deal with the sun setting until nearly 7 p.m., the downside is that I suddenly feel so behind.
Daylight savings time (DST) used to happen on the first Sunday in April, and all through university, this hour-thievery had such an enormous effect because it was always, always, always right around exam time. I felt like the time people were out to make sure I couldn't have just 60 more minutes to figure out a proof, to solve a program that refused to compile, or even to just sleep so that the next day's studying would make some sort of sense...
Two years ago, the U.S. decided to move DST three weeks earlier, and being the good Canadian neighbours we are, we of course followed right along. It was necessary, 6 weeks of time difference (three in the fall when setting clocks back, three in the spring when setting clocks forward) between places like New York and Toronto would have wreaked havoc on the business world, but you wonder why Uncle Sam really thought it was such a good idea to do it anyway...
The theory was that it would save energy, that 3 weeks of extended day light would mean people would turn their lights on later, blah blah blah, yadda yadda, insert more detail...
There is NO way to ever measure whether this worked. What I do know is that at work, we were thrown into a frenzy working on the DST project, making sure all IT infrastructure, systems, and applications were DST ready... It was many hours of overtime for many people. Some did so much OT they bought flat screen TVs with the money after. Others took vacations. (Me, I just did the boring thing and put it in the bank). It was like a mini version of the Y2K freak-out 7 years earlier... We love to have to worry about whether something wrong with the machines can possibly cause the whole world to end.
In hindsight, I look back fondly at the DST project as the first really technical, large scale project I worked on. But I still got up this morning and realized that instead of the 9:50 blinking on my clock, the time was 10:50. And I still feel groggy while I write this. And I still feel, well, honestly? A little jipped.

The Pool, Continued

2009-03-01T16:45:00.002-05:00

In case you're wondering, I've been swimming at the condo's pool several times since this happened, the most recent of these times having been this morning. I thought I'd share the good news that each of these swims was completely uneventful and unremarkable, i.e. no more angry racist swimmers trying to ban me from the pool for wearing too much. Thought I'd let y'all know.

Everything is Amazing and Nobody is Happy

2009-02-26T22:03:00.005-05:00

From Conan, and stolen from my friend's facebook page... Really funny and really true. Watch and appreciate your life:

Books to Love

2009-02-25T18:32:00.003-05:00

I've been able to get back into a reading groove, and I thought I would list out my current suggestions of good stuff to read if you like novels, in case anyone else is having difficulty finding goodness.
1-Bel Canto: By Ann Patchett. I've rambled on and on about this woman's brilliance and this book is currently my absolute favourite. Vivid, great characters, great story, great writing. I want to write a book like this (well, I just want to write a book, and beggars can't be choosers, but if I could have written any existing book, this is the one I would want in my name). I think the best word to describe the writing is 'lyrical'. Warning: you have to be up for a bit of sadness.
2- March: Little Women may be a classic, but every time I've tried to read it, I've found it absolutely insufferable. It's pretty ironic, then, that I loved this book about the father of those "Little Women" and his imagined experiences while he was away during the civil war. The character attempts to be so noble, it makes your heart ache. And yet it shows a lot of different view points: man vs. woman, north vs. south, black vs. white. A very different tone than Bel Canto, and, I thought, a harder book to read. But excellent.
3- The Book Thief: I'm reading this book about a little girl growing up with her foster parents in Germany in World War II. Her family is poor. They're also hiding a Jewish man in their basement. It's devastatingly sad, and yet the writing is so creative, and so lively and so so so different than anything else I've read in a very long time. You know the books that take "normal" things in childhood and magnify them and make them exceptional. This is one of those books. I can't put it down.
4- Catch 22: I read this sometime last year - borrowed off K's bookshelf, and I loved it. Set during the Vietnam war, following American soldiers. The best way to describe this book is irreverent and absurd. And so much fun in such a strange way.
5- The Glass Castle: This is a true story by Jeannette Walls, more of a biography than anything else, but it reads like a novel. Absolutely impossible to put down. You can't believe all of this happened to a real, modern day public figure.

Some general observations:
I seem to love books set during epic wars: WWII, Vietnam, you name it. I think just having those settings, something so huge that all of us are so aware of and devastated by in some capacity, lends these books a huge gravity, and helps us confirm all the tragedies of war. I do, however, find it sad that we don't seem to feel the same devastation towards the wars and battles and conflicts going on write now. It's like we can only ever see the human suffering in hindsight, and we tell ourselves 'lest we forget' even as we 'forget' the pain and loss of life happening in our time every day every minute every second. I wonder why we always have to look back before we admit wrong.
I also love books that go through whole lives and/or whole family histories. Another one that comes to mind is "Fall on Your Knees" by Anne-Marie MacDonald. She covers three generations of a family in the book. The plot is not a plot as such, but an entire lifespan. I completely admire people who can thread out such a long story.
I read the kind of books I wish I could write, in style and tone. This is why Ann Patchett appeals to me so much, because her writing is a similar style to mine, only a million times better. Same with Ann Marie MacDonald. Same with the author of The Book Thief. Maybe it's a bit self-centred, but the other reason I do it is because I am so impressionable, I start writing like whoever I'm reading, so it's easier to read in a similar style than a totally different one I have no hope of imitating.

Anyone with other good book suggestions? Next on my list are the Joseph Boyden books. He's Canadian, the books are about WWI and family relationships, and they've won awards. Right up my alley, I think.

Noha 1, Cell Phone 0!

2009-02-21T16:56:00.002-05:00

And she might have lost to the throat and sinuses, but Noha bravely rises from defeat to overcome the cell phone's refusal to talk to the computer... Below, Little Angela's Marvelous Works:

Throat and Sinuses 1, Noha 0

2009-02-21T16:42:00.002-05:00

So it turns out that that annoying sore throat was really just building up the energy to launch a full-blown offensive. I am on my second cup of "gollum juice" today, and third in the last 24 hours. It's slowly doing it's work...
I also tried to upload my little angela's piece of art, but my computer and cell phone (on which the picture currently resides) seem to have gotten into a fight and aren't talking to each other... The picture will come soon, I promise. I would hate to rob you all of her genius abstract work. (I say abstract because none of us would have been able to figure out that the circles were a boat, but they are, they are!)

A Moth is Not a Butterfly

2009-02-18T14:53:00.001-05:00

Random-Noha-Fact #8, in my last post, is about songs with beautiful words. Here's one I loved:

By Hawksley Workman

A moth is not a butterfly
And I know why, I know why
It kind of makes you want to cry
That a moth is not a butterfly

But some are happy in the bluest sky
And others search in the dark of night
And sadness is a silent right
A moth is not a butterfly

A stone is not a grain of sand
It's hard, I guess, to understand
Both broken parts scatter the land
A stone is not a grain of sand

And one has lived for longer still
The other longs to break until
The wind can lift it in its hand
A stone is not a grain of sand

A desert's not a mountainside
And I know why, I know why
'cause one is vast and one divides
A desert's not a mountainside'

cause one has need for open space
The other simply in its place
It must be known far and wide
That a desert's not a mountainside

A moth is not a butterfly
And I know why, I know why
It kind of makes you want to cry
That a moth is not a butterfly

100 Random Things About Noha

2009-02-14T09:38:00.003-05:00

Inspired by COTW's list, which was apparently inspired by someone else's list, here is my own list of 100 random things about me.

I love parentheses. They were created for people like me who can't finish a though without launching into a second (and third) tangential thought.
Nested parentheses are even better
Sometimes I wish I had was a starving artist and the whole world read my writing and thought it was beautiful, instead of a gainfully employed civil servant working in IT
Most of the time, my practical side wins out and I am happy to have more than 1/2 a month's rent in my bank account, or be subsisting on beets. It's a romantic notion, but I'm actually not that romantic a person
I now love certain foods I was completely indifferent towards in my childhood (exhibit a: the date)
Though I fancy myself a creative person, I have very few original ideas. Most of what I say was read/heard/seen elsewhere first
I don't think this contradicts being creative
Songs are really just poems set to a tune. The ones with beautiful words can make me cry
I used to be afraid of daddy long legs.
I am still afraid of centipedes
I have a tendency to be very silly
I hate serious confrontation. It literally makes me sick to my stomach
My favourite people in the world are my family (hubby, parents, sisters, and all their kids, hubbies, families, etc.). We're close in ways most people I know find unreal.
When I was little, I could get so engrossed in books that two of my sister's could stand over me, insulting my favourite hockey player at the top of their lungs, and I wouldn't even hear them
Said player would be Doug Gilmour
There are teachers who I will never ever forget for how much they contributed to my childhood and by extension, my personality: Mr. Falls (6th grade), Mr. Knox (9th grade science), Mr. Fitzpatrick (9th to 11th grade lit), Mrs. Alexander (high school chemistry). I truly respect and admire these people, and if I knew where they were, I would walk up to them with a box of chocolate and say thank you.
I read Quran really well, but have a bit of difficulty reading regular Arabic, because the writers usually don't include the accents.
Strangers in Egypt can usually tell within 15 minutes that I'm not a native
My parents are my heroes
I constantly read other people's blogs and think - Man! How did she think of that great idea/phrase/concept?
I tend towards being very vibrant or very quiet. I have a small "in between" window.
I'm working on that
I'm addicted to coffee
Lately, I'm also liking tea
and ice cream
I am sometimes inexplicably sad for no reason.
When this happens, a conversation with one of my favourite people is usually in order to fix it
I took gymnastics as a child and still know how to do some of the stuff - cartwheels anyone?
I also did track and field, and usually made the team more on effort than on talent
I made the tennis team in 9th grade because not enough people tried out. My doubles partner and I lost every match. Badly
I LOVE water sports
My favourite place in the world is Calabogie lodge. Been going there with my favourite people in the world since I was 8 or 9. You can probably trace our family story by following our summer vacations through the years...
I used to write for at least an hour every day. Not always good, but forced quantity used to produce at least a bit of quality
I love The New Yorker
I love The Far Side
If there's a new alternative health craze out there, you can bet I've at least read about it, if not tried it in some capacity
I have a whole slew of food sensitivities, which I regularly ignore.
My favourite thing about Montreal is the bike paths that are all over the city. I'm the girl in the hijab you see biking all over the place in the spring/summer/fall downtown.
My favourite hockey team is the Montreal Canadiens, even though I was actually a Leaf's fan the last time they won a cup.
I get caught up in political stuff. I can't separate it from life or turn it off since I see how much it affects some people's lives. Maher Arar used to pray at the same place as my family in Ottawa before he was sent to Syria for a year of torture. I go to Egypt to visit extended family and I see the corruption everywhere (in non-collected garbage and crumbling buildings and taxi drivers complaining about how to make ends meet). It's impossible to close my eyes to this. Politics is life for the part of the world that isn't as lucky as the other part (aka, us).
I get very upset at injustice, whether to me, or those I know and love, or strangers.
I have a good memory for useless trivia
I have three handwritten unfinished novels in notebooks under my bed. My younger sister, aka my audience, has yet to forgive me for leaving her hanging.
I cry a lot. Not because I'm easily sad, but because I'm easily moved.
If you have a cough, drink Gollum Juice.
Also, Oregano oil is the most disgusting tasting thing on earth, but insanely healthy and good for germ-killing.
I am the run-on sentence's biggest supporter.
My ability to sleep has nothing to do with the noise/light situation around me. The position of my neck and something to use as a pillow though? Absolutely necessary. On my weekly bus rides, I have devised ingenious pillow variations.
I know random small talk in Russian, Swedish, and German.
I am trilingual (English, Arabic, French)
I LOVE names and their origins.
Also, trying to figure out what language someone is speaking when I don't recognize it (is that Polish? Russian? Croatian?)
I am currently buying books way faster than I can read them.
I have a very low tolerance for heels, or anything that hurt the soles of my feet.
I have chronic back and neck pain from a dislocated rib/neck incident in 9th grade. It sounds sinister, but it came about in the most mundane of ways. Also, slightly embarrassing.
I've gotten stitches on multiple occasions, but never broken a bone or needed a cast (yet!)
If I'm reading a book by an author, my writing (if I'm writing at the time) inevitably takes that author's tone/style.
I started writing to be like my older sister, who is also my best friend.
Whenever I hear a song/poem I like, I immediately email it to said sister. Given she has two little ones under 4 (my Little Angela and Little Angela) her inbox is probably overflowing with these emails.
My favourite blog is by this lovely Canadian woman living in India with her husband and children. Moving. Funny. Exceptionally written.
I can't draw to save my life
I can, however, cook. I make up my own recipes.
I never thought I'd be a good cook and am mildly proud (and surprised) of this accomplishment.
I get a lot of joy from reading Scott Feschuk's hilarious columns in MacLean's Magazine.
I feel like we're living in a very momentous time in history. I think that over the next few years, the world will change a lot.
I hope they're good changes
I want to be part of it.
I love looking at beautiful pictures.
CBC Radio 1 is absolutely awesome.
Bel Canto is the most amazing book.
I second guess myself a lot
I buy recipe books, look through them once, and then rarely go back.
My husband continuously befuddles me with his ability to do 4 page mathematical proofs. I happily left these behind in 1st year university.
I have been an A+ student my whole life.
I never took biology because I was too easily disgusted. The bit of dissection we had to do in general science never ended well for me.
and yet I can prepare meat without problems.
I am a wannabe health freak.
I am also a wannabe environmentalist.
My favourite verse in the Quran is the second last verse of the Chapter called The Cave: Say, "If the ocean were ink (wherewith to write out) the words of my Lord, sooner would the ocean be exhausted than would the words of my Lord, even if we added another ocean like it, for its aid."
I am a big believer in always remembering that you don't know everything (or even most things)
I love chocolate, but also salad.
I love Canada fiercely, but I make a distinction between love and pride for my country and criticism of it.
I get homesick easily when I travel.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is perfectly up my alley when it comes to humour.
Corny jokes are also brilliant.
Jon Stewart is a genius. Also Tina Fey as Sarah Palin and any political sketches on SNL
This one is stolen with modifications from COTW's list: I would happily take a job at the Ministry of Silly Walks.
I love calla lilies and irises.
I want to go to New Zealand some day for a very nature oriented vacation (hiking, rafting, etc)
I have seen the Pacific Ocean and the Mediterranean sea, but not the Atlantic.
My favourite season is summer, but I think winter is extremely pretty.
I didn't have a cell phone until a year ago, and now I can't live without it.
I can go on a small amount of sleep, but I become either silly-hyper from too much coffee, or somewhat cranky.
My toes are the first part of me to get cold. Once this happens, I become extremely cranky.
My sisters and I are all daddy's girls. He used to whisk us off to Timmy's for warm, sweet treats every chance he got when we were still in university.
I love to sit in small cafes with a hot cup of coffee, either reading a good book, people watching, or trying to write.
My favourite place to do so is Planet Coffee in Ottawa. I'm still looking for my *favourite* place in Montreal.
I am still very close a couple of my closest friends from high school, though we almost never see each other.
Everyday I get to know M better, I am amazed by new similarities I discover between us. Deeper ones that didn't surface before.
I miss carrying my Little Angels and Little Angelas around, hugging and kisses them to bits, giving them horsey rides and other invented silly games. I can't wait to see them again in a few months when they all converge at my parents' house.

My most precious piece of art

2009-02-12T09:28:00.000-05:00

I'm not a huge collector. I tend mainly to go for small handmade things from Eid bazaars and the cool pictures that almost everyone has from Ikea. (In fact, M and I are in love with Ikea art. At least 3 separate walls in our apartment are graced with Ikea art. Imagine if we had more wall to cover! We'd probably buy out the entire collection.) Anyway, my hubby is definitely the one with the skill (and the knack) for decorating, and he's managed, with precious little of my assistance, to give our home a beautiful aesthetic, which I can wholly appreciate but couldn't have dreamed up for my life.
But yesterday, I got a new piece of art that I fell immediately in love with. It's simple and small, 8.5 X 11, on a blue background, and some with more refined taste might consider it amateur. Not me. This piece is going up on my cubicle wall at work.
It's from my Little Angela in Dubai, a jumble of red circles (roughly circles... maybe 'circle-like shapes' is a better description?) with some smaller, green circle like shapes around the edges. Then, there is my sister's annotation (probably word for word recitation of my niece's description of her work) along the bottom of the construction paper. In Arabic:

"This is a boat named jeen hay. (Noha's note: this is not an Arabic word. Not one I can think of, anyway. It's simply Little Angela's wild imagination running away with her as usual... Correct me if I'm wrong, sis!) There are people in the boat named grandma and grandpa and me and my brother and mama and baba and my uncle and my cousin. I'll let Khalto Noosa and Khalo M (Noha's note again: that would be myself and M) ride on the boat too. I'll let them."

There are other annotations, informing that the green circles are waves, and then along the top there's a dedication to me.
I love it. Simple pleasures, man. Simple pleasures.

But the Chips Were So Much Cheaper...

2009-02-10T21:09:00.002-05:00

Is this not utterly depressing? Apparently a new study by the Heart and Stroke Foundation has found that food pricing across the country can vary hugely for a lot of healthy foods. How much, you say? Well, in Toronto, you pay about $1 for a bag of 6 apples. In Calgary, you pay over $5. Sorry, but what? And it's not like this is a "who cares" item of interest either. We're hardly eating well as a country as it is.
My favourite quote from another article on this study:

"You have to wonder why we control the price of alcohol but allow such price inconsistencies for healthy food - and not just in remote regions of the country - but even between larger metropolitan areas."

Well, at least we know we all pay the same amount for something, eh?

Random Thoughts of Random-ness

2009-02-08T14:04:00.002-05:00

My throat is out to get me. Two weeks ago, there was a temperature involved, and since then, even though every other aspect of me seems to have recovered, the throat is not doing the same thing. I am reminded of the stuff the actor on Lord Of The Rings used to drink for the days they would shoot 14 hours in the rain and horrible weather. It was a combination of honey, lemon juice and ginger. He called it "Gollum Juice", since he'd make Gollum's voice all day so his throat was extra sore... I think that's probably going to be the only solution for my throat too...
It rained yesterday. Rain. In Montreal. In early February.... Not the first time it happens or anything, but it's been unseasonably warm for 3 days. After being unseasonably cold for about two weeks. I think the earth is trying desperately to tell us something. It has a flu. It's bouncing around between hot and cold, clammy and feverish, desperately needing some lozenges and lots of chicken soup. We can't ignore it forever. We won't be able to, not in the face of rising temperatures and hurricanes and floods.
The Habs are NOT playing up to their loyal followers' dreams these days. I was hoping for better, but not necessarily expecting it. The truth is that I'll cheer for them no matter what.
Remember this? Well, that was a year ago last Monday. That's right, we've now officially been married more than 1 year. It's cool to be past the first milestone, cool to look at each other and look back over a year of shared and built memories as a unit, and think about all we've experienced and how much we've changed and grown. We celebrated by sleeping in, watching an awesome movie that really ought to win the Oscar, eating insane amounts of sushi, and going skating. We're both horrible skaters. It's been years since either of us has been on an ice surface (Not including the typical Montreal or Ottawa sidewalk). But it was SO MUCH FUN! My sisters and I used to skate at the outdoor rink in our neighbourhood park in Ottawa all the time when we were little. Someday, I hope to teach M and I's kids how to as well...
I'm trying to get back to reading a book the whole way through without getting so horribly distracted. A few months ago, I developed the horrible habit of starting a book, getting 10 pages in, picking up a second one, getting 20 pages in, picking up a third one, going back to the first one... you get it. I seem to have developed ADD for anything longer than a magazine article, or Jen recommends a new book, and I'm so excited by her glowing review that I go out and buy it and start it when I'm barely two chapters into her last recommendation. The problem is she reads much faster than I do, and I don't have the patience to wait to pick up the latest little brilliant nugget she throws my way... So right now, I'm excercising discipline. I've resolved to reading March the whole way through before I go back to the two other books I've started and abandoned, as well as another three left un-started, taunting me from my bookshelf. I'm still early on in it, but not embarrassingly so anymore, and I think I'll be able to pull it off.
I need to speak more French. I am now confident enough, and good enough, at understanding the great majority of what is said around me in French, but the next step is one I have to push myself towards, and that's using it myself when I speak. It's a choice. Most of those around me will understand me just fine if I choose to speak English, and they're perfectly happy to indulge me and let me continue on in my more fluent language. I probably sound a lot better in English, considering I'm not prone to silly grammatical errors, and can express myself a lot more fluidly. Of course, I'll never reach that point in French unless I start. And stumble. And say stupid things and get laughed at. Not just in French class. Not just for 4 hours a week. Out in the world. Ditto for Arabic. I have to push myself if I expect to get better.

That Kind of Day

2009-01-30T21:19:00.002-05:00

We're Canadians, so the snow should really, really not be an issue. And it wouldn't be except there's so darn much of it! More than I remember getting in the past - which is probably my mind playing tricks on me, considering last year we almost broke the record for snowiest winter, and that my childhood memories are filled with sliding (sometimes head first) down the HUGE hills in the school yard where the snow piled up all winter until it was well over 2 meters high (also, chanting "I'm the king of the castle! and you're the dirty rascals!" from the top of the hill after climbing it - oh children, so charming).
Perhaps it's that in my childhood, all this snow meant just another plaything - a hill to be climbed, an evening tobogganing, a snowball fight to be had, angels and forts to be made. Now, it's all just something to walk around. Or rather, to try to walk around (come check out the great job they do clearing this stuff in the fabulous frozen metropolis that is Montreal, and you'll know exactly what I mean).
Yesterday, on the way home from Ottawa, one of my fellow commuters got off the bus at Kirkland as he always does. As he walked down the hill to the parking lot where his car was parked, he fell 3 feet into the snow. Waist deep. The bus was driving away as he rolled himself out. yeah.
I think maybe I just need to take up tobogganing again.

Sniffling and Yucky

2009-01-28T13:58:00.001-05:00

I can't think of very much more un-fun than going to the dentist when you can't breathe through your nose... Wish me luck!