Happiness in a cup

Caffe macchiato at Musical Offering in Berkeley.

If I could name the shape of happiness,

If I could show the place of happiness,

If I could describe the smell of happiness,

If I could convey the time of happiness,

If I could elaborate the taste of happiness,

I would tell you

That happiness is a cup of caffè macchiato,

At my favorite coffee shop in Berkeley,

With two fresh madeleines,

An internet connection,

And the world in my hands

Maybe sometimes,

Happiness happens on a Saturday,

Even if you stayed home, jobless, the week before

Maybe some days,

Nestled in your chair,

Fighting anxiety and fear,

There might be a message

That stirs excitement and hope

Sprinkles a smile on your face,

And grabs your heart with joy,

At the thought of love.

I did it my way

I went to vote at the only polling station designated for Northern California this afternoon. There was a huge crowd waiting to vote. Apparently, 800 people had voted in the morning hours and the polling station had run out of ballot sheets by noon. Everyone was told to wait while additional ballot sheets were flown in from Los Angeles. I waited alongside many others for several hours before I was able to cast my vote. People were tired and upset with the inexcusable delay, but they wouldn't leave until they had voted. Even news of Ahmadinejad's win didn't seem to deter anyone from the wait. Several hundred people waited in lines and received tiny slips of paper which showed them entitled to receiving a ballot sheet. I asked an official how many additional ballot sheets had been received and he said "600." So, in all 1,400 people could vote in Northern California today. I don't know whether anyone was turned away when they ran out of the 1,400 ballot sheets, but I was determined to cast my vote, so I waited.

When I finally made it to the room at Emeryville Hilton Hotel to cast my vote, after receiving the stamp in my birth certificate, I was directed to another table where I had to leave a fingerprint on a sheet of paper in return for a ballot. I asked the young man who was taking care of me why the event had been planned so poorly. Afterall, a very large Iranian community lives in my area and they should have anticipated a large turnout. The young man made some apologetic noises and went on to say: "Well, really, I doubt any of this would make that much of a difference, as the results have already been announced." I had bent down to ink my finger when I heard this. Slowly I processed what I had just heard, and straightening up, I said to him: "Young man, you have no right to say that. You are an officer at a polling station which is still open and has to operate according to rules and regulations. I am a voter who is participating in an election. It is quite possibly illegal for you to tell me what you just told me. Furthermore, it is insensitive and inappropriate of you to mock my attempt to vote in an election I see so important, and after waiting for several hours for you to get your act together. Do you see how ridiculous your statement is?" He said: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

I voted today. Lackluster and seemingly futile, I am not sorry I did. For all the shame and humiliation and concern I have felt over the past four years, the only thing I could do was to cast my one vote. I could do no more. I did it. I don't even have any hopes that my one vote would be counted correctly. But I did the only thing I could do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdQf_xN_DuU

Elections and Nostalgia

Sar oomad zemestoon, or Aaftabkaran, an old revolutionary song is played by two young artists. I love this clip!

I know I said this before--just a few seconds ago, as a matter of fact! Please consider participating in the elections on Friday. Cast your vote to be counted. If even for one day, for one hour, for one minute over the past four years you have worried about a possible attack on Iran, if you have felt shame about things that have happened in Iran, about the way Iran has been represented to the world, or for words that were said by someone else but whose weight you have carried, consider participating in the elections and showing that you care. Be responsible and vote. Iran and Iranians inside Iran need you now.

It's Time!

I am going to vote on Friday, June 12th, 2009. San Francisco Bay Area's polling place information is as follows:

Hilton Garden Inn Bay Bridge

1800 Powell St.

Emeryville, CA 94706

Tel. 510-658-9300

For more information about voting in the US, visit http://www.election88.org/. Make a difference and support the efforts of the millions of young Iranians who have been staying up on the streets, wishing a change.

Following A Bird

My younger son dragged me on a walk this evening. He thinks I am spending too much time indoors and behind the computer. He is right. It felt good to walk with him, talking about many different things. When we came upon a creek which runs in our neighborhood, we saw this lone bird, taking a bath in the creek. I took this picture with my cell phone. Though it was a huge bird, I'm not sure the picture is indicative of his size. What was amazing about the bird was one thick and long white feather sticking out of the back of its head, quite unique and beautiful! I wondered whether that long white feather meant that this was a middle-aged bird, or a particularly wise and knowing one!

As we stood there watching this bird, I found myself touched by its serenity. All by himself, not a part of a couple or a flock, he seemed to be spending some time reflecting on things! He wasn't in a rush, nor did he appear anxious; he was very peaceful. I did wonder briefly about what would a bird have on his mind! I then decided that it really was none of my business what birds think about! I thought instead that I, too, should get out more and go reflect by a creek! The nature might provide some breathing space, a thinking pad, for me. I think I will start walking regularly again. I need to find that which the bird had found and seemed to be enjoying this evening. I must.

I Will Vote!

Photo showing spontaneous gathering of young Iranians last night in Tehran, following the live broadcast of a debate between presidential candidates, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Mir Hossein Mousavi. Photo from Fars News Agency, Photographer Javad Moghimi.

Whenever I can vote, I do. It is the only way to be counted. Those who boycott elections are never counted. I think participating in elections, even if we are not entirely pleased with the candidates who have made it on the ballot, is a responsible thing to do. That's what I think! Now I am trying to find out where I can vote in my neighborhood. When I have the information, I will share it here!

The Last Wish

After living in the US for a number of years, I returned to Iran in the early 1990’s. During my stay, I managed a software company in Tehran . Here’s a memory.

My Accounting Manager informed me that our bookkeeper, Mr. Alizadeh, was continuing to show very poor performance. He was making numerous mistakes and was not making any effort to improve his performance. She had given him several notices over an eight month period, and she was sure now that Mr. Alizadeh lacked the skills and drive to perform his duties. She said she wanted to release Mr. Alizadeh from his employment with our company. I reluctantly agreed. Naturally, firing people was one of the worst and saddest things I had to do. Mr. Alizadeh was a very polite young man with a young wife and two small children. He was tall, handsome, and extremely pleasant. I had to accept, also, that he was a lousy bookkeeper! I agreed to five months’ severance pay for Mr. Alizadeh, and a promise to give him good references for his future employment. The Accounting Manager went off to fire Mr. Alizadeh.

When the Accounting Manager returned to my office shortly thereafter, she informed me that she had gone through the dismissal process with Mr. Alizadeh, but that he had insisted he wanted to talk to me. I asked her what he wanted to see me about, and she said “He says I want Ms. Kaviani to fire me. If she tells me to go, I will.” Oh brother! I told her to bring Mr. Alizadeh in, so I could fire him, too.

As the two people sat in my office, I went around my desk and sat in the chair next to Mr. Alizadeh. As is customary in Iran , the coffee table in my office had a plate of fruit, serving plates, and a jug of ice water and some glasses. I told Mr. Alizadeh how sorry I was about this whole business; how I wished there had been a way to save his job and to keep him on the team; how I had watched anxiously over all the months he had been put on performance track by his supervisor; and how sorry I was to see him go. I told him I would do everything within my power to help him find another job.

Mr. Alizadeh looked so crestfallen and so sad. I was so miserable, too. He said: “I understand, Ms. Kaviani. Now that I have heard it from you, I believe it. May I ask for a last favor before I go?” I said: “Sure, Mr. Alizadeh, what would you like me to do?” He said: “May I have a cigarette?” A cigarette?!! Phew, I was so relieved! Sure, no problem! I said: “Of course, Mr. Alizadeh!,” offering him one of my cigarettes. I even started to light his cigarette, but he took the lighter and lit his cigarette himself.

The Accounting Manager and I were exchanging anxious glances throughout this time, trying to pass through this very uncomfortable meeting. The two of us watched Mr. Alizadeh while he took one long drag on his cigarette. The inhale was so strong and so long on that drag, I swear half of Mr. Alizadeh’s cigarette turned into ash before our very eyes! We were also making small noises, saying some insignificant things to fill the uncomfortable silence while we waited for Mr. Alizadeh to enjoy his “last wish,” like a convict on death row or something. Mr. Alizadeh was not engaging in any small talk with us. His face had assumed a very dramatic look of sadness and perplexity. He was frowning and kept a stoic smile on his face. Mr. Alizadeh took his second drag, which was just as strong and long as the first one and it looked like the cigarette ended right there. I was feeling so bad about this whole meeting, wishing it to end for all of us to be free of the awful episode.

At this time, Mr. Alizadeh opened his left hand and put his cigarette out in the middle of his palm. Oh My God! What the hell?! I saw this first, so I stood up and took two short steps toward Mr. Alizadeh, while screaming “Nooooooooooo!” I could also hear the Accounting Manager’s echoed “Nooooooo” in my wake. By the time I made it to Alizadeh, he had tightened a fist around the cigarette butt in his palm. Without thinking, or remembering that in the Islamic Republic of Iran, women aren’t supposed to touch men in public, I reached for Mr. Alizadeh’s fist, trying to pry it open to retrieve the cigarette butt and check out the undoubted burn spot on his palm. Nothing doing. He had his fist closed tightly and won’t let me open it. All the while I kept saying “That was a really stupid thing you did, Mr. Alizadeh! Let me see your palm!” In the few seconds which in the super slow motion of bad events always feels like an eternity, when I realized that Mr. Alizadeh wasn’t going to let me open his fist, I reached over the coffee table, picked up the ice cold water jug, and poured water on top of Mr. Alizadeh’s clenched fist. He yelled and jumped out of his chair, because the cold water quickly seeped through his crotch where his hand had been held nearby.

At this time, the staff outside my office, who had heard the commotion, the two women’s screams and then Mr. Alizadeh’s yelp opened the door and came in. The sight of me and the Accounting Manager each on one side of Mr. Alizadeh and his standing in the middle with his soaking crotch must have been so confusing to them.

….

I had a few other encounters with Mr. Alizadeh before he left our company, though none of them were as dramatic. He did get another job elsewhere and came to visit me periodically for the rest of the time I worked in that company.

I changed Mr. Alizadeh's name.

Musical Surprises

Spring in Kurdistan, Iran, Fars News Agency, May 15, 2009. Isn't this peaceful?

I was at my computer, working on something last night when my older son showed up out of nowhere. He had come home to surprise me! It was a really wonderful surprise! I was looking at him rummage through the refrigerator and the cabinets, looking for and finding food, and eating as though he had been starving for days! He may have been, I don't know! His friends in the Bay Area had driven all the way to Santa Cruz to pick him up and bring him home for the surprise! Later, as I stuck my head in the family room to check in on them, I saw ten young heads sitting all over the place, talking and laughing and listening to music. That was the music I wanted to hear.

My kids have been changing a lot, turning into young men who are showing a lot of characteristics which surprise me alright! All of a sudden, it seems, they have become very attentive and considerate, and that is really a wonderful surprise for me. They have always been very loving in their own ways, heck, I should know, I taught them about love, but there is a new quality, a whole new dimension to the way they love now. They have become expressive of their love, showing it to those around them in words and in actions. This morning, my early rising older son came into my bedroom to say hi as I was tidying up. As we were chatting away, he stepped down the hall and looked in his brother's bedroom, where he was sleeping. When he returned he said all of a sudden: "I love that guy, Mom, especially when he is sleeping like that and he isn't getting on my nerves." A simple announcement, and music to my ears.

Three weeks ago, I received news that I have been laid off from my job. I have been spending a lot of time looking for a new job and thinking how to handle my life and my finances during a most uncertain time in the US economy. Naturally I am sad and anxious, but even in the face of an unknown time ahead, for some reason I don't feel devastated. The night before I received the news, my cousin Mehri called me from Orange County. She told me she had had a dream about my mother. My mother had told her to look out for me (movaazeb e Nazy baash), and had asked her to tell me that she is praying for me, and not to worry. The next day, as I received the news, all I could think about was the message I had received the night before. All through my life, and even almost thirteen years after her death, I have never had a doubt that my mother loved me and has always looked over me. She and my father are the ones who taught me how to love, and I think I have learnt well, I'm almost sure. My solitude and my reflections these days have a peaceful air about them. It's as though all day long I am hearing a beautiful symphony, something that I hadn't heard for a long time because of the stress I had been feeling at work. These days I hear the music of peace.

When I'm faced with adversities, and I have had this particular pleasure many times in my life (!), as soon as the shock stage is over, I try to take stock of what I do have and what it is I am still capable of doing. When I think of the things I have, I can't help but be grateful and happy for holding on to the essence of life, to that which is precious and important, irreplacable and valuable. I am surrounded by loving family and friends, new and old, and extremely valuable bonds of love and understanding. Most of what makes me happy these days in my life has not been made possible with money, so they all get to stay! My life, through all the thousands of tiny and important pieces which comprise it, is a beautiful mosaic of joy and color and love. I'll get through this time, holding on to every single one of those precious pieces, for they were never bought, they were earned. And that knowledge, that reassurance, those floating notes of hope and love, these days make the music of my life.

Down The Road of Love

The quickest and most efficient way I know to tell you that I'm alright is to share a one minute video clip of a drive we took down to Santa Cruz last week. The voices belong to a singer on CD, myself and my older son. The music is a medley of old Khorasani folk songs which my friend Hadi gave me a couple of years ago.

I have been put through the wringer recently, but I'm slowly but surely re-emerging. I have so much to tell you, and I will say it until you get bored with me! You will see. I love you all and I thank those of you who missed me and wrote. It was a good feeling to be missed--I particularly needed it over the past few weeks. Thank you for helping me remember that for every bad thing there are thousands of good things, and that for every malicious person in this world, there are thousands who are capable of love, trust, and integrity. I'll be back with more stuff soon! I love you all. I do. Yes, I do.

The Iranian American Weekend

Kayhan Kalhor performs with Brooklyn Riders

I have been attending the Iranian Alliances Across Borders Conference in Berkeley this weekend. It has been a very good time meeting new people and catching up with old friends. My writer friends in Northern California and one from New York are here for the conference and it's been a pleasure hanging out with them. When we went to dinner last night, it was wonderful to look from one end of the table to the next, seeing authors, poets, artists, and musicians all having an Irani dinner together and talking about life! I am also impressed by the beautiful and intelligent young Iranians who have shown up at the conference, whether to present papers and ideas or to receive them.

I'm planning on going to watch Kayhan Kalhor, the Iranian Kamancheh master, perform with Brooklyn Riders tonight. I will let you know all about it! I will also tell you about the Fared Shafinuri concert my friends and I attended last night soon. It was fabulous! Have a great Sunday everybody!

6/8 blues!

I love Martik. Sorry for the band-e-tonbooni song. It's one of those nights!

Here and There, Life Goes On

Iranian jazz and blues crooner Rana Farhan performs Drunk With Love. Enjoy!

I continue to maintain my Nowruz energy level and optimism! My attempts at keeping my personal space organized has prevailed and I am glad to report that a lot of my former self is showing again, too! Heeh! It actually feels great! I am laughing more and though I am still way behind in my emails and calls, I am very slowly turning things around! In all of this I have a heightened and focused sense of love and appreciation for my family and for my close friends who are loving, loyal, and always kind to me.

April is turning out to be a busy month, with everything from work to family matters to volunteer assignments and events piling up on me with a full calendar again. No complaints, though, as I am now doing many of the things I really enjoy doing and hanging out with people I really like and respect. I will be meeting up with other writers from the Association of Iranian American Writers this weekend, and I'm really looking forward to the IAAB conference, too.

Later this month there will be a music festival for Iranian.com (Saturday, April 25th), and I have agreed to help out as a volunteer for that fundraising event. I will write more about this later. If you would like to help out, please either buy tickets to the concert which will feature Faramarz Aslani, Arash Sobhani, and Sahba Aminikia (and a surprise guest), or donate to Iranian.com to keep this important Iranian medium afloat and alive.

As chance would have it, I will be visiting with Fared Shafinuri and his band, Tehranosaurus in Berkeley this coming Friday! If you live in these parts and are available to meet some pretty talented young Iranians, let me know! I think we will be hanging out in Berkeley during the afternoon of Friday, April 3rd.

Before I sign off, I want to say one last thing. Life does go on. Even after the worst of events. Even after the biggest losses. I wrote over a year ago about my co-worker's visit to my office to tell me about her impending divorce after a long marriage. All last year I have been watching my friend deal with her new life, making progress one day and retreating on another, trying to make sense of her new life. Today she told me she is going on her first date after her divorce. I doubt anything will come of it, but I am pleased for my friend for picking up the pieces of her life, trying to make herself whole again, and moving on. Even the simplest and most mundane things appear hard and impossible for people who are going through traumatic events. A date is a pretty good start, I should think! Yes, life does go on.