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!

Scary Illusion

I still sound like myself.
Driving to work I got caught in traffic, again.  Hence, it was a long drive with lots of break and go and I was trapped in this quiet can called my car.  I turned on the radio but it sounded horrible to my ears.  So I turned it off and not bearing my thoughts I impulsively called my mom to regret my decision by the sound of the first ring, I was not in the mood.  Luckily, I got the vmail.
Sitting in the car I was thinking about all the floating thoughts and watch them get louder and louder.  They were deafening!
I finally got to work and slid into my cube and got busy.  Busy working, busy responding emails, busy composing some.
It is Halloween tonight and I was supposed to wear a costume to work but I found no appetite to put on all the make up required.  I bailed at the last minute.  Especially because I felt I already looked scary because of all the scary illusions in my head.
I felt I looked different already.
Ring.  The phone rang.  I hesitated, would I sound different?  Would I sound sad as I felt so?  Would they hear the tears that were blocking my throat?  I had to respond.
Hi Lady J.A. I said.  And paused.  Did she hear me?
Happy Halloween she responded!
Phew!  She didn't hear me!
I could keep up with this costume.  No make up needed.

Life

Sometimes it feels as if I am that Leila being dragged away into the depth of the desert night, unnoticed in the crowd of the caravan; but strangely it feels as if, at the same time, I am the lover of that Leila, left behind, forbidden to be with her, to meet her, to have her; hopelessly watching her go.

Sometimes it feels as if I have been observing my life being lived.

5K Run

I never ran a 10K run, even though I had thought about it and aimed at it.  It was not indeed me.  It becomes too boring for me to run.  Although right now my only exercise is a 2.3Km walk/run every other night that takes me about 20 minutes to finish.  In addition to a healthy exercise, it is a mean to depressurize the day.
Yesterday, however, M ran a 5K in 25 minutes and 27 seconds and broke his own record of 27 minutes.  He just started running about two months ago.  I am proud of him!

The Fog Mystery

It was a rainy afternoon.  The kind of rain that had weightless drops with no rush to fall on the wet ground.
She walked the single street in downtown toward south and hardly got wet except by a layer of moist on her cloth. The street was deserted with only a few pedestrians walking hastily to find a shelter, some even holding umbrellas.
She sat down by the curb under the cafe's canopy; she was the single patron on the balcony.  She positioned herself toward the southern hills.  The hills were still green with layers and layers of fog covering  them with different intensity at different elevation, alluring her with a tempting mystery.
Her mocha and panini arrived; the cup was steaming hot, bitter, foamy, creamy; just perfect.
She felt the moist of the rain on her fluffed hair, then sat back to breathe in all the freshness.
Suddenly, she heard a footstep behind her, contently walking toward her, not running like all else.  She had called him and now here he was coming to join her for the evening even though he had said he wouldn't.  She got her mocha to go and walked to the fog mystery with him; never more understood.

Business Smart Fashion for Fall

Black tall boots with comfortable short heels, a finely knitted black dress, and stockings (rather sheer).

This attire is compact to pack, it is easy to maintain, it matches any accessories, and above all, it looks smart.  I have proof for that.

I travelled to Oregon last night with a tiny bag that carried all my stuff.  I spent less than 6 hours in a hotel room.  I had enough time to sleep for four hours and 40 minutes, to take a quick shower, and to recharge my iPhone and iPad.

I met with our sales representative, J.R. around 7:34AM in the lobby.  We headed to the Starbucks on the other side of the street where we were served by a very pretty, blue-eyed blond-curly-haired girl; just my opposites in terms of features.  She looked innocent; I think it was her eyes; and I was happy to look at her for as long as I did as J.R. took some time to pick his pastry.

After a quick chat about the account we were going to visit with my colleague we walked back to his car and drove down to the acount.
The downtown area where my hotel was located at looked clean and un-crowded for an early morning rush.  Soon after getting out of the downtown district we reached a road on a hill toward the hospital.  There was a green forest at one side that was a refreshing surprise.

Our meeting was going to happen at the hospital.  The hospital was located on top of a hill with a nice view of the city.  It was in there that I concluded that the people of that city were friendly:

In Oregan it was clearly the beginning of falls as it was chilly and most people were in jackets and even scarves.  It was grey and cloudy.  One would anticipate grumpy people delved in their misery until next spring, especially in a university hospital to where people with problems would come. Not at all!  Inside the hospital, people were walking calmly, no haste, no grumpiness.  They appeared friendly, smiling at strangers (me).  They would excuse themselves for being even close to bump to you (not yet bumping you).  They would hold doors and take turn in getting in and out of elevators.

We got to the 11^th floor where I got introduced to Dr B., the main person I wanted to meet in this trip.  We had never met before but I had sent him one email the day before to introduce myself and announce my intent for the visit. He was busy with cases and mending his interns so we had small talks here and there until finally we were summoned to his office.  As soon as we sat down he said: “so you are in marketing but you are an engineer”.  I was like “!!!! How do you know??!!”.–“well, you are smart and honest.” –“!!!”

So, when I stopped at lady’s room I took a good look at my image.  This was a smart and honest looking lady.  But what was fascinating was how he said I WAS smart and honest, not that I SEEMED smart and honest or I LOOKED smart and honest.  That was neat!  I suspect that it is the smart looking attire ;)

About Portland

The district close to downtown is called Pearl District and has a rather modern vibe to it.  It has old factories converted to lofts, condos, and little shops.  There were small boutiques with modern arts and furniture and quite a few book shops.

I asked J.R. about a local coffee chain to which he responded “stumptown”.  The mocha was just fantastic!  It was indeed bitter with no overwhelming sugary taste, it felt creamy and rich.  I miss its taste already.

Many people walking on foot and apparently the public transportation is well-programmed.

I liked Portlandas far as I could explore it in a 14-hour business trip.

Suddenly Wishes

Suddenly I have this pressing urge to change a few things and to improve, both professionally and personally.  My mind is pretty scattered about the subject.  I am thinking about academic programs like masters degrees, or courses and seminars; I am reviewing books and I have borrowed a couple from the library browsing them in between chores and A's demands and sleepy times. I am thinking I need to talk to a few valued people and seek some guidance.

I am feeling restless at times thinking how pushed back I feel by the conduct of some individuals.  I think I need to work on my self image and redefine myself.

Then I get in argument with myself whether or not I need all this.  I keep comparing myself with who I was at school a decade ago.  How determined and self assured I was and how, in the course of time and distance, while life was happening, in between feedback and judgement, in comparing cultures and languages, I lots it.

I know it is very unlike me and it pains to even admit to this down time full of doubts.

I know I am tired.   I know I need a vacation, just some time away, afar.

But for now, here I am.  And what is funny is that I am conducting fine at work, A is happy and healthy and progressing with school, M is calm and content with me, home is well maintained, friends are in touch, family is doing well.

It is only me focusing on self defined failures.  I wish to change this.  I know it does not take books and courses and seminars.  It takes a second to change back.  To stop comparing myself and just be.  I am.

Cherished Coffee

When I was living in Toronto, I had assigned coffee shops for each friend.  Therefore, it was not the coffee that brought me there but the fond memories.  Even the ambiance of each particular shop, even the chain ones, reminded me of the feelings and communicated thoughts in presence of the individual friend.
The trend continued with me in Bay Area, more or less.  Not as strongly I admit, since I do share coffee shops; still, the couple very special ones are reserved for the couple very special friends.
This afternoon, driving home, something really sweet happened.  I was on the phone with my darling RN.  She told me that it was the National Coffee Day today and wished we could have coffee together today.  And then, sipping coffee while on the phone with me, she brought up the point concluding that she was actually having coffee with me on such a day.  I smiled to myself, admiring my instinct for saving the one special coffee place for this real friend.

Memphis, TN

My first trip to Tennessee.
First night in Memphis has left me with an interesting impression.
When I got here the sun had already set but I could get a glimpse of the Mississippi river.
After five and a half hours of combined air travels I was feeling tired and a bit stuffy; thought would enjoy some soup.  Alas at the BBQ place we had dinner at there was one choice of salad and no choice of soup.
Post dinner I walked to Beale street with two other colleagues.  The street was closed to traffic and there were bikes parked on both sides of the street at 10PM.  One could hear music, Blues, coming out of the overcrowded bars.
As soon as we turned away from Beale it was deserted and quite.
My hotel room is a large suit, too large for one person.  There is streetcar rumbling below.  It is 11:30 and I am expected at the breakfast bar at 6:30AM.
Good night Memphis!
PS: Working on new ideas...

A translation

"My heart is from the sea, the spring is my prison
The droplets of water are singing the song of death to me
In my veins, instead of blood
There flows the song of departure
I'm not giving in
My stay is my death"

A Movie

No Ones Knows About Persian Cats (2009)
Directed by Bahman Ghobadi

Almost no doubt it didn't have the permit to be published in Iran.
A bunch of kids, young adults, wanting to play, produce, and publish music... As simple as that. As hard as it is over there.

The way they look, their hair styles, their shirts even sometime didn't sit well with me. But that's their choice.
The words in their songs were so simply sad, sorrowful. The simple rights like being able to watch Grammys on TV. As simple as that which may sound funny. Makes me smile with a bleeding heart remembering the first time I watched Oscar on TV, live!...

Why? Why?