Suddenly Nostalgia

Humming the favorite from Deer Hunter (1978) "You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. You'd be like Heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much. At long last love has arrived And I thank God I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare. The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak, But if you feel like I feel, Please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. I love you, baby, And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, To warm a lonely night. I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say: Oh, pretty baby, Don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay And let me love you, baby. Let me love you. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. You'd be like Heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much. At long last love has arrived And I thank God I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. I love you, baby, And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, To warm a lonely night. I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say: Oh, pretty baby, Don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay.."

Happy Thanksgiving

I absolutely love Thanksgiving holiday and the three more off-days that follow.  To me it is a leisurely morning to be spent at home with my family and a happy afternoon to be spent with distant family over a turkey feast.
I am thankful for the fire in the fireplace.
I am thankful for the two other kind hearts that beat with mine in this home.
I am thankful for the distant family in Walnut Creek.
I am thankful for the friends coming over tonight and staying for the rest of the weekend.
I am thankful for those reachable by phone and text and email even if I am not on FB.
And above all, this year, I am thankful for those hearts who are brave in love and believe in love.
Happy Thanksgiving!

Ugly Duckling

A was singing bits and pieces of a kids' song.  I recognized the story being the "Ugly Duckling" classic.  He confirmed that they listened to the CD of the story in the Club House were he stays at after school.  I like this story.  So I told him that it was a classic and that we used to watch a cartoon called "jooje ordak-e zesht" in Persian which was the illustrations of this very story. I narrated the idea in a very brief version ... "and the ugly duckling grew up to become a swan.  Have you seen a swan?  They are very beautiful.  The duck are pretty but the swan are the most beautiful birds, at least I think like so" when he interrupter me "just like you mommy"... My heart was melting.

The Voice of Love

M had bought us the tickets and I was skeptical if it were going to be a worthwhile night away from home.  I hadn't decided about what to wear until 30 minutes before departure; finally created a new outfit combination and the result was nice, at least M and I both liked it.  We got to the venue and got into our seats well before time.  As anticipated he didn't show up until 25 minutes past the advertised time.  The band started playing and there he entered the scene, singing as strong as he always sounds "you said don't wallow in nostalgia, oh how is it possible darling?  you never saw my misery, you never were around, just come by and see by yourself"

گفتی که دلتنگی نکن
آخ مگه میشه نازنین؟
حال پریشون منو
ندیدی و بیا ببین

And Ebi was singing right in front of us.  The whole audience was singing with him, word for word, but above all his voice was lovely!  Well above the sounds of any audience.  He is just magnificent!

Then he continued with another masterpiece:

برای باور بودن جایی شاید باشه شاید
برای لمس تن عشق کسی باید باشه باید
که سر خستگیهات و به روی سینه بگیره
برای دلواپسیهات واسه سادگیت بمیره

The words.  The voice.  I found myself whipping. These were the songs of my high school and university era.  These were the first meaningful love songs in our worlds.  I remember singing the songs with S.P. and SH.S. in the school yard at night once after the night prayer, sharing our first experiences with love, delving in the pain of growing up with our classmates.  Our little worlds had suddenly gotten so overwhelmingly big.  And our hearts had grown even bigger.

And this very first time I am at Ebi's concert neither of those friends are even reachable.  I am basking in his voice missing those classmates painfully.  I miss someone to confide in so dearly, to cry with, to sing with.  Damn the emigration!  And damn all that got us so far apart!

Ebi promised two and a half hours singing and he delivered.  He let us sing with him inviting us to fill the gaps he purposefully left blank in his songs.  And the whole audience was singing.  It was a nice evening filled with an amazing energy in the audience.  Ebi's voice equals the voice of love in my heart.

PS: I tried to translate the songs using google translate and doesn't deliver.
PPS: It was a worthwhile night away from home indeed!

PPS: A song from his most recent album; my imagination from the words differs deeply from the scenes of this clip but hope you enjoy the lyrics as much as I did!

 

Betrayals

It was a quiet fall afternoon. "A quiet neighborhood" she recalled hearing from the realtor who was trying to sell the house. Looking out the window to the street she thought "brutally quiet indeed". It was a fall afternoon with grey sky & still colorful trees and still green grass. Despite the chill in the air she had turned off the fire and opened a couple windows to invite freshness in, even if the cold of it entered uninvited. She had cleaned everything around the house. Now made herself a spicy hot chocolate and sat down at last. She looked around the house. All clean and still. She dwelled in her thoughts; the love of living the inconventional in her; the outlook the future had. She sipped the hot cocoa looking out the window at the quiet street.

My World Traveller

I took A with me to the last business trip that turned into a vacation by the end of the week.  My sister S joined us from Edmonton and A got the opportunity to reunite with family. He was so excited. And I loved watching him know his way around in the airport; from the requirement to take his shoes off for security check to keeping a couple of his taffies for take off and landing to keep his ears on, to knowing that he couldn't play with his Lispter game until after we were in the air. I felt so proud of him as I always wanted him to be a world traveller. We had a meeting with his teacher today to rview his performance at first quarter of kindergarten. It was a proudful 20 minutes. Of course we have things to focus on with him to help him improve and he has his whole life for that.

Sounds of An Empty House

Staying back at home alone; working from home for a few hours, meetings coming up, and a trip is awaiting me.
A is ecstatic; he has told me several times already that he couldn't wait for his upcoming trip with mommy.  It is a business trip but he is going with me for a change.  For him it is like a dream come true.
Somehow my heart is pounding in anticipation.  I tell myself what ever will be will be.  I recite how those who believe and take patience will be forsaken.  Yet I feel every beat of my restless heart and I cannot analyze it.  Is it the trip?  I am going to miss M I know.  But I have missed him before too...
The house is empty.  There are clicking sounds of my typing and the tic tic of the clock on the wall.
I log in to Pandora radio. "I'll be" is my first song.



I love the pain in his voice despite the hopeful words.

PS: Happy Eid!

A Cup of Coffee

I needed a mocha this morning but I had vowed that I would buy myself one if I got out of the house before 7AM.  I left at 7:12AM.  No mocha for me.
It is a rainy day, dark and fresh in the early morning haze.  I decided to make myself a bitter drink.  Two heaping spoons of dark cocoa and a medium blend of office Starbucks would do.
I stood by the window stirring the wet and dry together using the porcelain spoon of my orange and white porcelain mug.  It reads Paris on it.  Standing by the window looking over the wet parking lot as the sun rays were trying to battle the thick clouds I was wondering how a cup of coffee would feel for a lady with a boyish short hair on a wet November morning in Paris.

The Joy of Singing

My friend was a writer.  May be she still is, I am not sure.  What I know is that she is my friend and she is a physician and she is a world citizen.  Her name is Z.Sh.

One day, back in the high school days in Isfahan, when getting accepted to a high ranked university in a very reputable major was the dream of any high school kid, especially the ones attending NODET or competing with it, after finishing reading her most recent handwritten publication under the blanket using a flash light, I asked her why she wrote.  She responded that everyone had only one life to live, but by making characters in her stories she got the chance to live many different lives.

And oh yeah!  I wanted to live that girl's life in Z.Sh.'s last hand-written publication!  I think we all did.  That character was an aspiring dreaming unchained girl.  She was living in Tehran at a relative's place, she had this romantic boy friend but got to learn about the neighbor's older son/nephew, who got to tutor her, the one who seemed to be ignoring her all along. I remember a description in the novel that explained once he chose to eat a grape vine when she was at his place because it took a long time to finish it as a sign of being ignorant toward her; but indeed he was madly in love with her.  And if I recall it correctly she got accepted to a good school in the end which is the minor detail in the whole book.  Such sweet chick flick. I remember imagining a couple of the scenes in the book that I later sketched.  Nothing fancy but I enjoyed doing it.

Ah what would I give to live those nights again, despite all the confusions and all the unknowns and all the stress for not knowing if the desired future would ever be.

Driving home today I was listening to Ebi, The Story of Love (ghesseye eshgh), like I did this morning and yesterday and the night before that.  I basked in it all, in the tone, in the words, in the meanings, in the screaming desires: "... The story of your love is in my voice again
A drunken night is awaiting me again
There is no more than one breath between the two of us
What restlessness is in my nights again"

Indeed there is joy in singing when you relate to it; either by feeling it is being sung to you or by feeling that the song is your words.  It is as if you are living many different lives, as Z. joon might have said.

Nice!

"Don't compare yourself with anyone in this world.
If you do so, you are insulting yourself."
from the game Alien Strike
Love it!