Little Luxuries

Thoughts of home drifted through my head today. They were like unreal memories from a time that felt like ancient history and  I could not shake them. Despite telling myself that I had moved on and was fine, my brain still refused to let go of images of John, the ex-boyfriend whom I had left so many months before. It was his birthday and his presence was strong around me, as I idled in Lusaka.  I wondered where he was and if he had a roof over his head at night. Was he still dependant on friend’s generousity and the comfort of their couches, or had he found a place of his own to call home? It did not matter, but just thinking of him, I knew that he still held a piece of my heart, despite all that had happened. I wished him well and sent happy thoughts across the ocean to him, knowing that if it mattered, he would feel them. Odds stated that I would never see him again, but our spiritual connection remained branded in the far reaches of my mind. I wasn't sure if I was happy about that or not, but the fact still remained.

John was not with me now though. No one was. I was in Lusaka at a friend of Eddie’s apartment. The night previous, Eddie had gone out with his friend, while I stayed back at the apartment and enjoyed the luxury of a candle-lit bath with Leonard Cohen and classical music on the stereo, as well as poetry and the first few stories from Roald Dahl’s collection of short stories in hand. It had been a long time since I had spent an evening in that manner. It felt decadent and rich. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend an evening alone. And now, the light of the day illuminated the journal that I scribbled into again. 

With Eddie busy getting welding done on some of his equipment, it appeared that we would be spending another night in Lusaka. I didn’t mind though, as the calendar did not dictate my days. We had the luxury of a real roof over our heads and running water at our fingertips. I had no money to spend, but nothing that I had want of either. Food and drink were readily available to fill my bloated belly. A real bed and pillow would catch my dreams that night. We would depart Lusaka in the morning and by evening, I would rest my head in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.  It was enough to know that I still had food in my belly, good people around me and the means to get where I wanted to go. Tomorrow might be a different story. 

Saturday's Email of the Week: A Religious Debate

Saturday's Email of the Week

I am out of town today at a wedding. I should be up by now showering, doing hair and makeup & trying to convince the girls that they should let me do their hair as well. At least I should have Grandma to help me out, so maybe she can pull their hair into cute little piggies to set off their fancy dresses. I shall be pulling on a brand new dress with a set of pretty new shoes to go with. I would like to say I am a girlie girl, but this was my first new dress in about 13-14 years. My other fancy dress that has always been my stand-by staple was one I wore as a bridesmaid at a friend's wedding. I figured it was time that I could do with a little fresh gussying up. Perhaps I will be able to have someone snap a picture or two so that I can share. Until then, I leave you with this week's email of the week. It came in early in the week and got a good snort from me. I hope you enjoy! Have a super weekend!

The Pope and The Rabbi


Several centuries ago, the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to convert to Catholicism or leave Italy. There was a huge outcry from the Jewish community, so the Pope offered a deal: he'd have a religious debate with the leader of the Jewish community. If the Jews won, they could stay in Italy; if the Pope won, they'd have to convert or leave.
The Jewish people met and picked an aged and wise rabbi to represent them in the debate. However, as the rabbi spoke no Italian, and the Pope spoke no Yiddish, they agreed that it would be a 'silent' debate.

On the chosen day the Pope and rabbi sat opposite each other.

The Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers.
The rabbi looked back and raised one finger.

Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head.
The rabbi pointed to the ground where he sat.

The Pope brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine.
The rabbi pulled out an apple.

With that, the Pope stood up and declared himself beaten and said that the rabbi was too clever. The Jews could stay in Italy.

Later the Cardinals met with the Pope and asked him what had happened.
The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. He responded by holding up a single finger to remind me there is still only one God common to both our faiths.

Then, I waved my finger around my head to show him that God was all around us. The rabbi responded by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right here with us.

I pulled out the wine and host to show that through the perfect sacrifice Jesus has atoned for our sins, but the rabbi pulled out an apple to remind me of the original sin. He bested me at every move and I could not continue."

Meanwhile, the Jewish community gathered to ask the rabbi how he'd won.

"I haven't a clue," said the rabbi. "First, he told me that we had three days to get out of Italy, so I gave him the finger.

Then he tells me that the whole country would be cleared of Jews but I told him emphatically that we were staying right here."

"And then what?" asked a woman.

"Who knows?" said the rabbi. "He took out his lunch, so I took out mine

*******************************

Chicken à la Lino Without You

The last bite of chicken lies
wet on the floor,
growing colder as
we throw barbed taunts,
defiant challenges
with our eyes.

Seconds tick by...
I bubble,
broiling up
like the
congealed mass
on yesterday's linoleum.

Fire burns bright
in indignation
"How could you do that?"
Dead poultry don't tell no tales.
Neither does your daughter.
And flung chicken makes me miss you even more.

There is a new poetry hangout in town by the name of d'Verse ~Poet's Pub. Tonight they are hosting Meeting  the Bar: Critique and Craft with a big theme, namely big topics, ie. death, life, grief, suffering, etc., but the suggestion is to come at it from a less than blatantly direct angle. The thrust of the night is to offer honest, helpful and informative critiques of other poets work. I read a few pieces and am going to explore a few more before hitting the hay, but thought I would add a poem of my own.

You tell me the theme. If you can't get it, that lets me know that more work is needed. I welcome your two cents worth. Thanks for visiting!

I Leave You with "Sunday"

I'll be headed out of town again this weekend. Strapping the girls onto the hood of my tractor and moseying on over to a wedding a few towns away. I might not get back here to write much more up, but I just wanted to say that I miss you all when I'm not around! My friends out there in the blogosphere are the best, most supportive lot around. And as I truly feel like you care just a smidgen about me and my two cents worth, I do try to make an effort. Therefore today, while I was getting my hair done (so that I'd be all dolled up for the wedding), I snuck in some writing. Yup, while I "processed" my pen scribbled across the pages of one of my journals to capture stories for you dear folk. I managed to get not one, but TWO chapters of my African tale written. That way, even if I don't get back here on Monday, you can still wander through Africa with me. I'll be back though and look forward to hearing what you think!

And so that this post is not too dull, I thought I should throw in a little something extra as well. I dug deep and came up with an ancient poem to share this evening, entitled :

Sunday

I escape to words today.

Small smile for others,

But gray eyes inside lay.

     The rain pours down...

Letters that I don't have to say

Written, not mailed

Away. Now,

     The thoughts poured down...

Looking through watery lids

Streaks cover the pane

Where a question breeds.

     A tear drops down...

Flies, Fishermen and Flights of Fancy

The days flew by, as dust wafted behind the land cruiser on our way South. A smile curved my lips when we reached the brilliant coast of Lake Malawi again. Oh, how I loved its azure shores. One day Eddie pointed out a dark cloud across the lake. It looked like smoke, but Eddie shook his head no. The hazy cloud that drifted on the horizon was in fact lake flies. Catherine and John had never seen them before, but Eddie remarked that they were edible and considered a delicacy by the locals when they swarmed across the lake. They caught them by the handfuls and squished them into balls, then fried them up into "delicious" fly cakes. As we were not there at the right time of year, we would not get the pleasure of trying them. Eddie assured us that we were not missing anything. He had tried them before and wasn’t impressed. As I had tried the other Malawian treat of grasshoppers and hadn’t been a fan, I didn’t rue our timing all that much. I guess protein is protein though, when it is scarce to come by. I just preferred the view.

The lapping waves were a welcome companion, as I curled up on the beach at night as well. With the flies located across the lake and no mosquitoes to bug me, I could look up at the pristine, star-lit sky in awe. It was also a treat to watch fishermen stringing their nets out in the moon’s glow in hopes of catching a meal for the next day. The long row of lights that represented each fisherman along the net, painted a line of humanity in my mind’s dark eye. I was mesmerized and fell in love with Malawi all over again.

Before I knew it though, the lake was behind us and I was let out at Annie’s Guest House, in Lilongwe, for the night. I was amongst backpackers again and enjoyed the camaraderie, for an evening at least. Stories were swapped and chocolate was shared. Our laughter was only good until noon though and then I met back up with Eddie to head off for the next leg of our journey.

After jumping into the land cruiser again, we journeyed on across the continent. We stopped in Chipata, then made our way across Zambia to Lusaka. Conversation lulled and was wan, at best. In bursts of discordant chatter, I spoke of my plans for the rest of my travels. Eddie nodded politely, while he drove across the dry terrain dotted with rondavels. When I said that I was thinking of heading back towards Harare, then south again to Cape Town, he suggested an alternate route.

“Why not cut across at Kasane and travel south down Namibia for somewhere you haven’t been before?” he said.

Why not indeed. And with that, plans changed again. I silently wished goodbye to my erstwhile friends in Harare and opened the door to adventure in new lands, as yet unexplored. I still had a ways to go before I could be introduced to this new country for me, but a twinge of excitement filled me again. I fell silent thinking about all the places I had been and people that I had met, but was still present enough to wave at the villagers that we passed who eagerly lifted their hands in greeting. Their enthusiasm still brought a smile to my lips, even after nine months on the road. While Lusaka neared on the road we travelled, my own trail grew as my mind drifted along on a new flight of fancy.