World Beginnings

I  envy organized people, always have. Over the years I have a long history of losing money and canceling credit cards lost in beautiful countries. Pickpockets mark me immediately. One summer holiday, with my son in Madrid, we noticed a scrawny lowlife young woman following us and she even knew that we saw her! It felt like we were in a spy movie ducking into bars and fancy hotels trying to evade her.  Finally, we found ourselves in a big crowd and I felt something in my backpack. In a flash, she had unzipped a small section and lifted my new sunglasses and my best Lancome lipstick. I was pissed about the lipstick. When we got to Barcelona I was paying for food and before I knew it, my wallet and money was gone. A lot of money. Thankfully, my son had some cash and I learned how to dial internationally and the card and emergency cash arrived the next day. My son carried my wallet afterwards. A few years later we were in Paris on our way to Versailles on a crowded tr

TripAdvisor images of dusty, uneven streets, women in brightly colored long skirts with shawls draped over long black hair. Children playing stickball in empty lots black hair tousled by the sun.  calling out into the clear day. Men, dusty and dirty, pushing wheelbarrows, swinging pickaxes, mixing concrete in shallow wells in earth dry. Yet images can’t  reveal background music from cassettes old or radios battered. Tuba's bellowing, trumpets blaring  and drums cadence. And the singing  from worksites  tiendas  casas busses. Belies soulful power of a beautiful people. Sleepy village sounds call imagination. clopping horses outside my casa. Soft voices passing open doors, “Hola, Buena Dias!” Recording from gas trucks offering tanks full. Junkmen calling for refuse sad. Tamales and fresh fish hawked from wheelbarrows. And the  ice-cream cart singing for children. No need to leave village  cocoon.

Fall Harvest  Dirty pink bundle left on the street faint feeble heart, uneven   crying, gasping for breath, calling for help.  Who will come? Who will succor the abandoned? The hopeless? Mother’s love absent,  father’s protection forgotten familial support blown away  in the October wind. Time of harvest, but damaged fruit, like refuse, tossed aside without thought. A child is not a piece of bad produce. Charged with doing no harm, oath abdicated...coldly sent to die...alone-quickly forgotten. No record of life... of death. She never existed. But God works in mysterious ways sending an angel to hold her softly, gently.  For the only time  in her short life she was Loved. For Jenine Basaraba, Nanjing China; October 2013

Over the years porches, such simple things, have changed and become mere ornaments.  One dictionary defines it as a noun “a covering over the front door of a house”; symbolic of protection from the elements and the entry into a family’s life. Today a “front porch” is a statement about how clever the lady of the house is and a testament to the family ’s earning power. It also creates “curb appeal” which translates in to value.  Various styles are used to convey something of the owner.  Some present a sentimental, sophisticated motif with wicker and Martha Stewart color coordinated cushions, where no one sits. In the more rural areas, the theme might be the Old West or mountain life and weekends devoted to scouring garage sales and junk shops for memorabilia. Yet no one sits in the rockers or straight back chairs. Signs by the door announce “Welcome” but families are seldom home and the doors are dead-bolted; protected from everyone. Back in the day,  in rural Mississ

Goodbye Bashir Powerful body, built for speed, soul crafted in devotion, you came to save me on a  sunny day. Weary, worn, sick and torn- you saved me- carrying me to  a peace unknown. Free from cancer’s cruel lexicon. Over the debris of life’s hopelessness, with hearts pounding in the heat. We entered magical Narnia’s door, far from diseased reality.  You saved me. In searing heat and evenings cool patiently you waited for me. But it had to end...cruel fate crushed your body, leaving no hope. I could not save you. You went on your last ride without me...alone.  Leaving me only your braided tail- a shoe and and endless pain for what could  never be again. I hold you in my broken heart forever because you set me free, saved  me from pain intractable . What am I to do now? Cairo, April 2010 For Lotfy who spent hours and hours riding with me during the darkest days and who broug