curlicues

I am saddened at the demise of cursive handwriting. It used to be that longhand was taught as an art form. Remember when we minded our curlicues, much more than the content of our writing. With the advent of word processors, e-mails and text messaging, we have forgotten the art of penmanship. It is not a surprise that most people can't read longhand. Some students I know would write their compositions in block letters. There is a danger that in the future, no one can read history written by hand. I say, bring back the curlicues.

one true love

My alter-ego who is just across the room engrossed in his laptop sends me this e-mail he got from one of his friends in the States. I adore anecdotes like this:

THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS ALL ABOUT!

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, "That is the kind of love I want in my life."

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

With all the jokes and fun that are in e-mails, sometimes there is one that comes along that has an important message. I had to share it with you all.

Oh, by the way, peace is seeing a sunset and knowing who to thank. The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have.

yasmin crowther's the saffron kitchen

The Saffron Kitchen is a heart rending story replete with lovable characters. It is set in Iran and in England, both countries given descriptions at its best. England is beautiful with its lush surroundings; Iran is described in the colours of earth and saffron. Yasmin Crowther writes simply and honestly, never apologetic. The reader is left to deal with his or her own biases and stereotypes.

The bonds that tie mother and daughter, husband and wife are threatened when Maryam Mazar, Iranian by birth, is heartbroken and inconsolable when she is physically violent to a young nephew. In a while, we would see that this angry outburst is something that was borne in Maryam’s adolescence when her autocratic father had harmed her physically because of a night of “indiscretion” with the real love of her life, Ali. She was eventually disowned by her father and Ali brutally scarred and banished to a harsh life. Maryam, self-exiled in England met Sara’s father and married him but was continually haunted by her past.

The part that would make me cry is Sara’s realization that for the sake of her mother’s coming to terms with herself, she has to let her go and reunite with Ali in Iran and allow her to face the demons of her youth. Sara's father is tremendously hurt but gathers up the courage and the wisdom to let Maryam go. Sara herself is angry with what happened to her mother decades ago and would not impose more guilt on her.

This is one book that gives me the catharsis. It may allow one to delve into the difficulties of mixed marriages and might also bring up the issue of Muslim women’s rights in a patriarchal setting. Not unlike Maryam, many of us can be frustrated at times with the system, though, in reality, it is not as bad as thought, as most Muslim women can have security and serenity in the same set-up. The book may inspire debate, yet, what is vital for me is the characters’ love for each other; there was unhappiness but there were no forms of betrayal – just letting go; setting a loved one free no matter how it hurts.

joie de vivre

This is the balcony view of the Broadwater along Marine Parade in Labrador, Gold Coast. We get to see this span of shimmering water for seven days.

the claws of summer

wiped out

Meeza is up in this huge contraption called The Wipeout having fun. My feet are on soil; my heart in bonkers. When the machine stops, I'm happy to see her still whole. She says, "That was really fun! Now, can I 'ikut' The Claw?" I say, "No Way" (to foil my heart attack).

pretty in pink

This bird lives at the Currumbin Sanctuary at Gold Coast in Australia. It is sooo pretty it resembles the pink sorbets of summer.