Weekends are meant to go out at your leisure. It is meant to take in the activities of the week and recuperate or complete unfinished tasks during the week. Not in Pakistan. It was just another day of the week, promising more events than one person could handle.
The electricity went out Saturday morning at 6am. I noticed this because the air conditioning switched off and I was only being cooled by the ceiling fan. After two hours of sleep, my eyes flew open to check the time.
Squeeze me? Why the hell was the electricity off? This was not the normal timing. I got up and looked around. One child was in the middle of the king size bed snoring. The other was on the ground on a mattress curled up in a fetal position. Hubby was at one end of tbe bed. One daughter was missing. Perhaps sleeping with her cousins in another room. I stepped over everyone and went downstairs.
No one was awake and I sat in the sitting room alone. I listened to the rooster's call, the distance noise of a bell and cars driving through the street. After an hour of contemplation,I walked back upstairs, hot and bothered. I couldn't sleep, had no appetite and the loadshedding was a royal pain in the a**. So I pulled out a book and read. By 11am, everyone started to awake. The electricity was still out. It had been more than five hours. At meal time, the elders in the house made an executive decision. Half of them were going to a nearby aunt's house around the corner and we were going to hubby's uncle's house half an hour away. Apparently he lived in a new development in Lahore called NFC where the traffic and congestion was considerably less. The family raved that he bought a brand new house in a relatively posh area. I needed to move. In lightning speed, I was already packing for the overnight stay the minute the plans were made.
The girls were another story. They did not want to be separated from their cousins. I told them to consider this move as part of an adventure. All of them stopped what they were doing and gave me side-long glances. Ok, I tried to embellish each moment but could you blame me knowing what I knew? I became the master storyteller in order to shield them from the reality of our situation. In my morning contemplation, I realized I had to put on the brave face and lead the family. Of course, our safety was my number one priority so I wary of that.
One thing I never overlooked - at all times, was that one parent had to be with the three girls. I never allowed them to go out without one of us. This golden rule was challenged at many points and my insistence was deemed as being too particular. But I didn't care. It was my way or the highway and everyone knew not to mess with that.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Pakistan - Day 5
I awoke Friday morning to the sound of rain. It had rained consistently for four days since our arrival. Our relatives joked that we brought the rain from Canada as a gift to them. With the rains came a period of cooling to the heat wave that preceded our visit. But the next day after a rain brought humidity and problem hair. No hair product or styling tool could tame any of our locks. My girls have very thick hair and I would hear daily complaints about how the country was ruining their hair. Forget the immense poverty and lack of life's basic necessities. I remember sitting them down at least once a day to remind them where they were and what they had at home. It didn't take much to change their way of thinking!
At 2pm, dutifully, the electricity went out for two hours. I imagined a small brown man sitting behind a large lever in the electrical station just counting down the minutes before shutting down the city's only energy source. And when the electricity was turned off, everyone's mood shifted. People went to take naps, cry about no tv, or just sit motionless with their eyes rolling to the backs of their head.
I walked upstairs and lay down in my bed. There was an adjoining balcony to our bedroom. My husband and the younger twin elected to open the door and stand on the balcony. At this point it was raining hard but the balcony had a canopy situated above. My daughter had her camera and began videotaping. Father and daughter were talking about the rain when I then heard the hubby speaking Urdu and a strange voice respond.
"Who are you talking to?" I shouted from inside. My husband said that the neighbor was outside in the street enjoying the rain.
I sat upright in the bed. "Don't talk to anyone. They do not need to know why you are outside."
My daughter explained that she was videotaping the rain and the neighbor. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. "Do not videotape or talk to anyone!"
The next thing I knew, I heard a gunshot. I jumped ten feet off the bed. Not a second later, my husband, with daughter in tow, leapt back into the bedroom, frantically shutting the door, pulling the drapes and flying onto the bed. I stood with my jaw hanging.
"Did the neighbor just shoot a gun?" I asked with trepidation. My husband nodded with fear in his eyes while my daughter offered an explanation."I think he was trying to shoot a bird in the other direction."
I swallowed my heart back down my throat and wondered out loud why they were talking to him in the first place. Before they could answer, we heard the second gunshot. I lay down and pulled the covers over my head, cursing and yelling at everyone to keep quiet and go to sleep.
Squeeze me? Who could sleep knowing a crazed neighbour dancing in the rain was shooting at random birds? Was this to show off for the sake of providing footage for my daughter's video!?
I walked downstairs after the electricity came on, cool as a cucumber. The aunt and uncle asked me if I heard the gunshots and I replied yes and that we were the instigators. Puzzled, they probed further and I recounted the entire story from beginning to end as they stared back without blinking. That night, our Dubai cousin walked over to the neighbour's house and politely asked him to refrain from shooting his gun as the incident upset his visiting family. VERY REASSURING. Now the neighbours knew we were visitors. Lovely.
Later that day, the girls visited the chickens living upstairs in the servant's quarters. They came down, excited to tell me their experience about handling livestock. The term, sitting duck, came back to me just then and I wished to start moving, in a car, outside. Don't ask me why.
But I think I had to confront my fears, HEAD ON, in order to move forward.
And that is just what I did.
At 2pm, dutifully, the electricity went out for two hours. I imagined a small brown man sitting behind a large lever in the electrical station just counting down the minutes before shutting down the city's only energy source. And when the electricity was turned off, everyone's mood shifted. People went to take naps, cry about no tv, or just sit motionless with their eyes rolling to the backs of their head.
I walked upstairs and lay down in my bed. There was an adjoining balcony to our bedroom. My husband and the younger twin elected to open the door and stand on the balcony. At this point it was raining hard but the balcony had a canopy situated above. My daughter had her camera and began videotaping. Father and daughter were talking about the rain when I then heard the hubby speaking Urdu and a strange voice respond.
"Who are you talking to?" I shouted from inside. My husband said that the neighbor was outside in the street enjoying the rain.
I sat upright in the bed. "Don't talk to anyone. They do not need to know why you are outside."
My daughter explained that she was videotaping the rain and the neighbor. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. "Do not videotape or talk to anyone!"
The next thing I knew, I heard a gunshot. I jumped ten feet off the bed. Not a second later, my husband, with daughter in tow, leapt back into the bedroom, frantically shutting the door, pulling the drapes and flying onto the bed. I stood with my jaw hanging.
"Did the neighbor just shoot a gun?" I asked with trepidation. My husband nodded with fear in his eyes while my daughter offered an explanation."I think he was trying to shoot a bird in the other direction."
I swallowed my heart back down my throat and wondered out loud why they were talking to him in the first place. Before they could answer, we heard the second gunshot. I lay down and pulled the covers over my head, cursing and yelling at everyone to keep quiet and go to sleep.
Squeeze me? Who could sleep knowing a crazed neighbour dancing in the rain was shooting at random birds? Was this to show off for the sake of providing footage for my daughter's video!?
I walked downstairs after the electricity came on, cool as a cucumber. The aunt and uncle asked me if I heard the gunshots and I replied yes and that we were the instigators. Puzzled, they probed further and I recounted the entire story from beginning to end as they stared back without blinking. That night, our Dubai cousin walked over to the neighbour's house and politely asked him to refrain from shooting his gun as the incident upset his visiting family. VERY REASSURING. Now the neighbours knew we were visitors. Lovely.
Later that day, the girls visited the chickens living upstairs in the servant's quarters. They came down, excited to tell me their experience about handling livestock. The term, sitting duck, came back to me just then and I wished to start moving, in a car, outside. Don't ask me why.
But I think I had to confront my fears, HEAD ON, in order to move forward.
And that is just what I did.
Pakistan - Day 4
I remember standing at the top of the stairs and feeling dizzy. Coupled with the heat and jetlag, I knew I wasn't fully functioning. My mind would race each night while my body would slump into bed. I was already exhausted mapping out who to visit, when to visit and what to give them. I had written it all down. Hell, we even had a budget on our handy printed excel sheet, but I was more interested in executing then planning.
I would lay awake each night with the ceiling fan whirling above me. The girls would go to the other room where their female cousins romped around until the wee hours of the morning. They were told that they would sleep during the day (due to heat and loadshedding) and remain awake all night. At first, they were all quiet around each other. Our cousin's 13 year old was not happy to be in Pakistan. She wore a scowl everytime I saw her and I would just smile in return but I soon became her trusted advisor. Our commonality? Shopping. That was the only thing that brought a smile to her face.
She didn't like the country, the heat, the boys staring and whistling at her and she didn't back down. Instead, she defiantly stared at everyone despite advice not to garner any attention. My girls, on the other hand, were instructed not to speak English outdoors, return anyone's stares and look down. And they listened - so much so that I had to remind them to 'act human' outside! The least attention we drove to ourselves the better because after hearing disturbing news, I realized we were sitting ducks.
I noticed everytime I entered the room, a hush would follow. The elder relatives would suddenly stop talking and smile at me. Although I was tired, I was sure something was being concealed. The children left to go upstairs and then I saw them move in for the kill. They seated me down and the hubby's aunt turned to me to say, "Just wanted to let you know that one week before your arrival, your uncle was shot in Defense (a secure suburb in Lahore, noted for posh inhabitants and military surveillance) while working outside in his home. They do not know who shot him but he is in the hospital now. He was not doing too well in the beginning but he is expected to survive and travel with his sons to Dubai to remove the bullet from his pelvis."
My worst fear was confirmed. The so-called Pakistani street violence I had heard about in Canada was now a reality. And even worse, a family member.
That night, my hubby and his mom went to visit the injured uncle in the hospital. I walked upstairs in a zombie state and lay down in the bed. I could hear the girls giggling in the other room. Great, just when they were starting to adjust. There was no way I could tell them about this shooting. They were already scared as it was. I bit my lip and started the justification again. I am here to visit my relatives, not to sightsee or go visit irrelevant places. I have a job to do and three weeks to do it in. My mind was racing. Again, three nights and no sleep. My biological clock refused to swtich from Canadian to Pakistan time. Nine hours difference.
Squeeze me? It more like night and day difference from the life that I knew to the life I had now entered.
And it was then when it dawned on me that we were two large foreign families living under the same roof. If word got out on the street that we were from abroad, there was no telling what would or could happen. Home invasions were rampant and we already had one family flee the country to Canada due to a gunpoint robbery.
I looked out the window at the unfamiliar sky and prayed uncertainly to a certain higher power. And I am telling you, from that night, He was with me until I returned back to Canada...
I would lay awake each night with the ceiling fan whirling above me. The girls would go to the other room where their female cousins romped around until the wee hours of the morning. They were told that they would sleep during the day (due to heat and loadshedding) and remain awake all night. At first, they were all quiet around each other. Our cousin's 13 year old was not happy to be in Pakistan. She wore a scowl everytime I saw her and I would just smile in return but I soon became her trusted advisor. Our commonality? Shopping. That was the only thing that brought a smile to her face.
She didn't like the country, the heat, the boys staring and whistling at her and she didn't back down. Instead, she defiantly stared at everyone despite advice not to garner any attention. My girls, on the other hand, were instructed not to speak English outdoors, return anyone's stares and look down. And they listened - so much so that I had to remind them to 'act human' outside! The least attention we drove to ourselves the better because after hearing disturbing news, I realized we were sitting ducks.
I noticed everytime I entered the room, a hush would follow. The elder relatives would suddenly stop talking and smile at me. Although I was tired, I was sure something was being concealed. The children left to go upstairs and then I saw them move in for the kill. They seated me down and the hubby's aunt turned to me to say, "Just wanted to let you know that one week before your arrival, your uncle was shot in Defense (a secure suburb in Lahore, noted for posh inhabitants and military surveillance) while working outside in his home. They do not know who shot him but he is in the hospital now. He was not doing too well in the beginning but he is expected to survive and travel with his sons to Dubai to remove the bullet from his pelvis."
My worst fear was confirmed. The so-called Pakistani street violence I had heard about in Canada was now a reality. And even worse, a family member.
That night, my hubby and his mom went to visit the injured uncle in the hospital. I walked upstairs in a zombie state and lay down in the bed. I could hear the girls giggling in the other room. Great, just when they were starting to adjust. There was no way I could tell them about this shooting. They were already scared as it was. I bit my lip and started the justification again. I am here to visit my relatives, not to sightsee or go visit irrelevant places. I have a job to do and three weeks to do it in. My mind was racing. Again, three nights and no sleep. My biological clock refused to swtich from Canadian to Pakistan time. Nine hours difference.
Squeeze me? It more like night and day difference from the life that I knew to the life I had now entered.
And it was then when it dawned on me that we were two large foreign families living under the same roof. If word got out on the street that we were from abroad, there was no telling what would or could happen. Home invasions were rampant and we already had one family flee the country to Canada due to a gunpoint robbery.
I looked out the window at the unfamiliar sky and prayed uncertainly to a certain higher power. And I am telling you, from that night, He was with me until I returned back to Canada...
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Pakistan - Day 3
Loadshedding. I had no clue what that word meant prior to my trip but it became a phrase that was a source of anger for the natives and visitors alike.
Squeeze me?
Loadshedding: when the electricity shuts down to conserve energy in the city
Does not help to be behind a main market - the worst consumers of electricity. Hence, ours went out three times a day, two hours at a time. That also meant that the water stopped because the motor carrying water to the bathrooms was run by electricity. So we bathed in our own sweat most of the day. Our cousins were very generous so they implemented three back up generators to compensate for the loadshedding. But this only turned on ceiling fans and back up lights. I would sit immbolized under a ceiling fan, cooled only by the beads of sweat on my forehead. And the humidity did not help - I swore I had African hair the whole trip. Even my relatives were asking if I had permed my hair prior to coming.
I warned the girls that many backhanded compliments would fly their way and they needed to ignore them. They discovered the meaning of blunt: I was told that I was too dark and my daughter had gained too much weight. I said that tans were the latest fad in Canada and my daughter only smiled and shifted unconsciously in her chair while throwing me 'that' look. The twins were crying that there was no internet and that their iPod charger adapter fell out of the socket. So much for that!
Day 3 and we were stuck to the chairs with blood, sweat and tears.
No wait! The blood story comes Day 4.
Squeeze me?
Loadshedding: when the electricity shuts down to conserve energy in the city
Does not help to be behind a main market - the worst consumers of electricity. Hence, ours went out three times a day, two hours at a time. That also meant that the water stopped because the motor carrying water to the bathrooms was run by electricity. So we bathed in our own sweat most of the day. Our cousins were very generous so they implemented three back up generators to compensate for the loadshedding. But this only turned on ceiling fans and back up lights. I would sit immbolized under a ceiling fan, cooled only by the beads of sweat on my forehead. And the humidity did not help - I swore I had African hair the whole trip. Even my relatives were asking if I had permed my hair prior to coming.
I warned the girls that many backhanded compliments would fly their way and they needed to ignore them. They discovered the meaning of blunt: I was told that I was too dark and my daughter had gained too much weight. I said that tans were the latest fad in Canada and my daughter only smiled and shifted unconsciously in her chair while throwing me 'that' look. The twins were crying that there was no internet and that their iPod charger adapter fell out of the socket. So much for that!
Day 3 and we were stuck to the chairs with blood, sweat and tears.
No wait! The blood story comes Day 4.
Pakistan - Day 2
We came home to a house full of people at 5am in the morning. 12 cars and 50 relatives met us at the airport like it was some party. It was nice to sit in the air conditioned Range Rover with my husband's cousin who now claims his residence is in Dubai. I was too tired to ask why he was wearing sunglasses in the night. But I am sure it was all part of the outfit - designer clothes, nice car and pakistani pop tunes playing in the background. The hubby was escorted into another waiting car so we were separated, much to the dismay of the girls who were wondering if they would ever see their father again. They were extremely quiet in the backseat, taking in all the sights as we drove past military checkpoints, slums, commercial buildings and crammed neighborhoods. I tried joking with them to settle their uncertainty but only my uber-cool cousin laughed at my lame jokes and then proceeded to crank the tunes.
We reached our UK cousin's house in a suburb called Gulberg and when we entered, the table was full of food and more relatives came to receive us. I just wanted to throw myself on a bed but they insisted we sit down and eat. Five kids followed me into the bathroom where I went to wash my hands. I realized then that I would have an entourage everywhere I went. The girls were hot and bothered and didn't refrain from showing their pouty faces. I could understand - the last thing we all wanted was to be smothered by food, affection and people.
The house we stayed in was a summer vacation home owned by our UK cousins. They came every summer to relax. So there were eight of them, grandparents, parents and kids and our whole family along with my motherinlaw. We were situated behind a main market and commercial area. The house was beautiful and big. More than enough room for all of us and these relatives were well known since we stayed with them in the UK back in 2004 so we were very happy in their company. And I didn't think anything of it until Day 3.
That's when I realized we were just a bunch of sitting ducks.
We reached our UK cousin's house in a suburb called Gulberg and when we entered, the table was full of food and more relatives came to receive us. I just wanted to throw myself on a bed but they insisted we sit down and eat. Five kids followed me into the bathroom where I went to wash my hands. I realized then that I would have an entourage everywhere I went. The girls were hot and bothered and didn't refrain from showing their pouty faces. I could understand - the last thing we all wanted was to be smothered by food, affection and people.
The house we stayed in was a summer vacation home owned by our UK cousins. They came every summer to relax. So there were eight of them, grandparents, parents and kids and our whole family along with my motherinlaw. We were situated behind a main market and commercial area. The house was beautiful and big. More than enough room for all of us and these relatives were well known since we stayed with them in the UK back in 2004 so we were very happy in their company. And I didn't think anything of it until Day 3.
That's when I realized we were just a bunch of sitting ducks.
Pakistan - Day 1 on July 19th
After travelling a combined 22 hours: 14 hours to Abu Dhabi, a three hour stop over there and another 4 hours to Lahore, I was about to kill someone when we arrived early Monday morning on July 19th.
It was 3am when Eithad airways touched down in Lahore. The airport looked different after 17 years. Last time, I literally walked off the plane and onto the tarmac with gunmen posted at all four points of the plane. This time I walked off the plane, through the gate and into a mass of gunmen protecting every point towards customs. We were told to look for the sign with my husband's name on it. Luckily I had learned to read and write Urdu as a child because there was no way he could read the sign even if it hit him in the face!
Yes, we had VIP connection - or so I thought. My impression of the 'protocol' service was that we would bypass customs and get our luggage at the exit door to the airport. Protocol service got us to the front of the custom line with an officer rolling his eyes and demanding I fill out everyone's form. Then we all had to eyeball some camera and then move forward to the luggage carousel to collect all 10 suitcases.
My husband's cousins were there to greet us and helped collect the luggage. I took the younger twin to the washroom and met a poor cleaning woman in the less-than-clean looking bathroom. My daughter was eyeing the woman, dressed in rags but smiling a toothless smile. She was extremely sweet by asking us if we wanted the raised toilet or the potty on the ground. I waited for my daughter while the woman gave me her blessings and told me how lovely we both were. I dug into my pocket and remembered I had no rupees. I pulled out an American dollar bill (worth 85 rupees) and gave it to her, apologizing that I did not carry their currency. She almost jumped me with joy.
When we came out, our cousins laughed and slapped my back (NEVER touch a jetlagged woman!) when I told them how much I gave her. I didn't care...I arrived safely and that was all that mattered to me. Safety being the operative word for the entire trip, or lack thereof that is.
When we walked out of the airport into the parking lot, we were all hit by the heat wave. Over 40 celcius heat at 4am in the morning, fogging up my video camera and the girls' glasses. They looked over at me in horror and I just shook my head.
And this was only...the beginning.
Squeeze me?
It was 3am when Eithad airways touched down in Lahore. The airport looked different after 17 years. Last time, I literally walked off the plane and onto the tarmac with gunmen posted at all four points of the plane. This time I walked off the plane, through the gate and into a mass of gunmen protecting every point towards customs. We were told to look for the sign with my husband's name on it. Luckily I had learned to read and write Urdu as a child because there was no way he could read the sign even if it hit him in the face!
Yes, we had VIP connection - or so I thought. My impression of the 'protocol' service was that we would bypass customs and get our luggage at the exit door to the airport. Protocol service got us to the front of the custom line with an officer rolling his eyes and demanding I fill out everyone's form. Then we all had to eyeball some camera and then move forward to the luggage carousel to collect all 10 suitcases.
My husband's cousins were there to greet us and helped collect the luggage. I took the younger twin to the washroom and met a poor cleaning woman in the less-than-clean looking bathroom. My daughter was eyeing the woman, dressed in rags but smiling a toothless smile. She was extremely sweet by asking us if we wanted the raised toilet or the potty on the ground. I waited for my daughter while the woman gave me her blessings and told me how lovely we both were. I dug into my pocket and remembered I had no rupees. I pulled out an American dollar bill (worth 85 rupees) and gave it to her, apologizing that I did not carry their currency. She almost jumped me with joy.
When we came out, our cousins laughed and slapped my back (NEVER touch a jetlagged woman!) when I told them how much I gave her. I didn't care...I arrived safely and that was all that mattered to me. Safety being the operative word for the entire trip, or lack thereof that is.
When we walked out of the airport into the parking lot, we were all hit by the heat wave. Over 40 celcius heat at 4am in the morning, fogging up my video camera and the girls' glasses. They looked over at me in horror and I just shook my head.
And this was only...the beginning.
Squeeze me?
It was a trip, not a vacation!
Wow, just checked the date stamp on the last post and realized I had so much to talk about but didn't write it down for the last two months. Shame on me. That is what a blog is about, isn't it?
Well if I don't tell you about my trip to Pakistan, it would be a tragedy. More like the country itself is a tragedy. I went after 17 years and was just as shell-shocked as my girls. They had never been and everything threw them for a loop. Monkeys dressed in skirts wearing sunglasses for money, transvestites looming everywhere for money, gunpoint robberies for money, the best shopping that money can buy -- ok you catch my drift. Like for any woman, shopping was my only therapy.
We tried to find a time to visit when sh*t wasn't happening. I could not have picked a better time: flooding to the North, domestic plane crash to the West, political assasination and rioting in Karachi and in Lahore, where we stayed, this city was the last to experience a suicide bombing. I justified the trip in my mind weeks before we left. There was a court case in my head with the defense stating only the positives about going whereas the prosecution stated the obvious: Canadian Govt warning was TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK.
When we arrived in Pakistan, I inhaled and pretty much held my breath until three weeks later on our return. At the stopover in Abu Dhabi, I totally lost it. I told the hubby and girls that I was going to check out the shops in the airport and ended up bawling in Jimmy Choos. The saleswoman thought I was crying over the prices. It was then I realized that I had just exhaled.
Stay tuned to learn the entire day by day, blog by blog story of my trip into the country that left me helpless, weak and exasperated!
Well if I don't tell you about my trip to Pakistan, it would be a tragedy. More like the country itself is a tragedy. I went after 17 years and was just as shell-shocked as my girls. They had never been and everything threw them for a loop. Monkeys dressed in skirts wearing sunglasses for money, transvestites looming everywhere for money, gunpoint robberies for money, the best shopping that money can buy -- ok you catch my drift. Like for any woman, shopping was my only therapy.
We tried to find a time to visit when sh*t wasn't happening. I could not have picked a better time: flooding to the North, domestic plane crash to the West, political assasination and rioting in Karachi and in Lahore, where we stayed, this city was the last to experience a suicide bombing. I justified the trip in my mind weeks before we left. There was a court case in my head with the defense stating only the positives about going whereas the prosecution stated the obvious: Canadian Govt warning was TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK.
When we arrived in Pakistan, I inhaled and pretty much held my breath until three weeks later on our return. At the stopover in Abu Dhabi, I totally lost it. I told the hubby and girls that I was going to check out the shops in the airport and ended up bawling in Jimmy Choos. The saleswoman thought I was crying over the prices. It was then I realized that I had just exhaled.
Stay tuned to learn the entire day by day, blog by blog story of my trip into the country that left me helpless, weak and exasperated!
Monday, June 7, 2010
Welcome to the Concrete Jungle
I don't know if you can call what's happening in the Gulf of Mexico a spill.
For those that continue to refer to it as such, I say SQUEEZE ME?!?!
Catastrophic. Unbelievable. Mind blowing.
One word why we are drilling into the sea. GREED.
Our dependency on oil is too great. Our ability to control is too little.
We are too busy on our iPods, iPads, Blackberrys, iPhones to notice.
Try putting down these trinkets and walk your neighborhood - alone, without an electronic device.
Look at the trees, listen to the birds, walk in the park. Get out of the city. Look at nature and its own community.
Now imagine devastation. Talk to the folks in neighboring cities near the Gulf and understand what we all take for granted.
Welcome to the concrete jungle. And you think the weapons of mass destruction are in the Middle East. Enter BP.
For those that continue to refer to it as such, I say SQUEEZE ME?!?!
Catastrophic. Unbelievable. Mind blowing.
One word why we are drilling into the sea. GREED.
Our dependency on oil is too great. Our ability to control is too little.
We are too busy on our iPods, iPads, Blackberrys, iPhones to notice.
Try putting down these trinkets and walk your neighborhood - alone, without an electronic device.
Look at the trees, listen to the birds, walk in the park. Get out of the city. Look at nature and its own community.
Now imagine devastation. Talk to the folks in neighboring cities near the Gulf and understand what we all take for granted.
Welcome to the concrete jungle. And you think the weapons of mass destruction are in the Middle East. Enter BP.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sweet Dream or Beautiful Nightmare
Time and time again, I have the weirdest sensations. I honestly believe I have a sixth sense. Premonition, gut feeling, odd dream, call it whatever you want.
They don't come often, but when they do, the results are inevitably correct.
Last night I had the strangest dream--or was it a beautiful nightmare?
Squeeze me?
It was about work. I have many dreams of work. When you have two lives, home and work, it is inevitable you will dream of both. But my dream showed many things. Upheaval. Change. Death. I know...sounds sadistic. Sometimes I choose to tell people, sometimes I refrain. Old cultural folklore demands one not to reveal premonitions before or after they happen.
Today when I came to work, I heard about upheaval, change and death. All in that order.
I want to brush off the sixth sense.
I'm learning not to be rattled.
But it lives within me, as a warning and sometimes a guide. It follows me during the day and haunts me at night.
Release me...sometimes knowing is too much.
They don't come often, but when they do, the results are inevitably correct.
Last night I had the strangest dream--or was it a beautiful nightmare?
Squeeze me?
It was about work. I have many dreams of work. When you have two lives, home and work, it is inevitable you will dream of both. But my dream showed many things. Upheaval. Change. Death. I know...sounds sadistic. Sometimes I choose to tell people, sometimes I refrain. Old cultural folklore demands one not to reveal premonitions before or after they happen.
Today when I came to work, I heard about upheaval, change and death. All in that order.
I want to brush off the sixth sense.
I'm learning not to be rattled.
But it lives within me, as a warning and sometimes a guide. It follows me during the day and haunts me at night.
Release me...sometimes knowing is too much.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Mind vacation
Do you ever walk into a room, on a mission and forget why you are there?
Do you ever pick up the phone, dial the number and forget who you called?
Do you ever go to the grocery store, buy your stuff and come out wondering where your car is?
Do you see a person you know, flag them over and then forget their name?
What is the common theme running here?
I think these last couple of years, I have been on a mind vacation.
Squeeze me?
I eat almonds, I play crossword puzzles, I watch Jeopardy, I read three books a week but I feel like my mind is separating from my body. Alzheimers scares the sh** out of me so I am really trying to push my mind beyond its limits (which is not hard to do, joke some friends) in the attempts to boost my memory.
I will remember an event three years ago but ask me what I ate for breakfast today and I draw a blank.
Some call it Mommy Brain. Its true and I ask women who have had children whether they have the same affliction and 90% agree--they cannot remember important details.
If my mind and body take a vacation at the same time, I'm afraid I will end up in a catatonic state. But aren't we all already there?
Do you ever pick up the phone, dial the number and forget who you called?
Do you ever go to the grocery store, buy your stuff and come out wondering where your car is?
Do you see a person you know, flag them over and then forget their name?
What is the common theme running here?
I think these last couple of years, I have been on a mind vacation.
Squeeze me?
I eat almonds, I play crossword puzzles, I watch Jeopardy, I read three books a week but I feel like my mind is separating from my body. Alzheimers scares the sh** out of me so I am really trying to push my mind beyond its limits (which is not hard to do, joke some friends) in the attempts to boost my memory.
I will remember an event three years ago but ask me what I ate for breakfast today and I draw a blank.
Some call it Mommy Brain. Its true and I ask women who have had children whether they have the same affliction and 90% agree--they cannot remember important details.
If my mind and body take a vacation at the same time, I'm afraid I will end up in a catatonic state. But aren't we all already there?
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