To Go Again

Hello all,

Since I am about to embark on another endeavor, I have started a new blog to chronicle my experiences in Cairo, Egypt. Although this blog will remain active, please visit Can I get that Recycled? for updates and current happenings, at least for the duration of this new adventure.

J

Crossways

This morning, everyone was walking to work. On this side of the Hill, the metro is in one direction, and everyone on all the sidewalks on every street was headed towards it, like pre-programed robots on their way to punch their card. I was either walking directly in the opposite direction or on cross streets, and I thought, 'Well, this is pretty typical.' I've been moving in cross directions from the general public my entire life. I didn't even have a dog or a stroller to use as an excuse, just going against the flow for no apparent reason: looking at the sky, talking to myself a little bit ('geez, what is this, pedestrian rush hour?'), touching trees (a random flare-up of my fascination with bark), and listening to cicadas while the humidity argued and fought with the cool breeze and otherwise pleasant weather.  People even smelled like morning, all fresh and clean, hints of cologne and toothpaste, bright and airy before the day turned stale and people wilted from the unkind, stagnant atmosphere of office buildings. 

HOT

Funniest thing I've heard all day: "You know it's been like living in Satan's armpit when the phrase 'highs plummet to the 100ºs' is used."

LOL and so appropriate. At least the wind is blowing today... and not knocking over trees in the process. Win. 

"How to Make an American Quilt"

I watch the kids run and splash in the fountains and none of them are my color. What I see is freedom. We can run and dance and get wet in our streets and plazas and our melatonin is almost as varied as our ages and personalities. But it works here, like a patchwork quilt someone just threw together but nonetheless turned out beautifully. Someone hung it out on the clothesline in the late afternoon sun and it billows in the breeze to the sound of laughter and clear water hitting tile and concrete. This is my country. We're corrupt, often arrogant, and given so many freedoms that we choke ourselves with them, but for all of that, we have so many moments of unstifled beauty. When we're born, we don't choose our nationality - it's simply thrust upon us. I'm one of the blessed to have been born in the land of the free. But I think a lot of times, it inhibits us to understand those who weren't. On the other hand, it affords us a lot more opportunity to do so: more resources, more educational programs, families who encourage us to discover who we truly are and where it is we fit on this huge planet of ours. I think too many of us don't take advantage of that, preferring the safety of our small little worlds. Then, too, the ones called to stay are necessary. The world doesn't function without them.  They're the ones that clean the fountains when the kids have all gone home; the parents who dry off their children as they walk back down their streets; the ones who make sure the street lamps begin to glow after the disappearance of the sun. The quilt now flutters in the wake of the noise of the day and in the artificial light, reflects gold against the hazy, violet night.