Saturday In Pajamas

Bruce Springsteen sings "I'm on Fire" in Paris in 1985.

Ha Ha, there was something very liberating about staying home all day on a rainy Saturday in my pajamas, working on my story! It feels good to have accomplished as much as I did with the amazing dancer's story after such a long time. I want to be done with it by tomorrow. The boys and their friends are off to the City again, and I have the quiet house to myself, listening to the rain again. I know this must sound just so boring and so middle-aged to you, but I waited all this past week for this day and did exactly as I pleased, a valuable fringe benefit of being middle-aged and single! I did have my talk with sweet Shervin, who came and watched a ballet videoclip with me, listened to Shahr-e-Ghesseh with me some, and listened to my unsolicited advice politely, defending his points of view honestly and vigorously. All I could do was to ask him to think about the stuff I was telling him, and he said he would (though now I wonder how seriously he would have taken me sitting here in my pajamas!). It was a very productive day, exciting in its own unique way. I wanted to post a rain song, but decided instead on a fire song! Have a good evening you all.

Friends

My friend, Hadi, outside my office today at noon.

It's Friday. As usual, I will talk about friendships tonight. Before I talk about them too generally, however, I want to talk about them a little more specifically. I would like you all to meet my friend, Hadi. Hadi was the first "new friend" I met in the new life I have been living over the past two years. He and I met in Dr. Taheri's Persian Literature class on "Adabiat-e-Mashrooteh." He works on campus, so he and I see each other regularly, talk on the phone, or have lunch together. He is from Mashad, but came to US when he was only 14, so there was a lot he still hadn't learned about Iran and being an Iranian. Hadi has taught himself how to be a good Iranian. For example, he takes pride and immense discipline in teaching himself advanced Farsi literature, memorizing poems and discovering new poets. He is an engineer during the day and teaches private Farsi classes to his friends' kids on some evenings. Hadi is kind and generous and extremely ba marefat. Three times over the past two years I was stuck somewhere with an emergency or dilemma, and didn't know whom to call. Hadi is the one I called, and he came and "rescued" me! When I had that horrible accident on Highway 24, I called him all shaken up and more than a little disoriented. He came and got me and talked to the police officer and the tow truck driver. He is a very good man, a good Iranian, and a wonderful friend. Though usually silent, I know he reads me all the time, because when I ask him where he has been, he says "I know you have been O.K." When I jumped out of my office today to take a picture of him, he wouldn't stand still, and it took several tries to get this photo. It is very descriptive of his character, I think.

My kids' friend, Shervin, is here from Iran. My kids are so excited. Shervin has a girlfriend he loves in Iran, so it's hard for him to stay here long enough to get used to his American life. Every so few months he gets in a plane and goes to Iran to be near her. He is 22, and has already gone to her khastegari three times, each time hearing a big, fat NO from her parents. We will see how long he lasts here this time. When I see him I'll talk to him about the importance of an education, patience, and doing things at the right time. I'm sure my kids will not appreciate my fozooli, but I will do it, because I have my own friendship with this young guy.

Remember, appreciate, and honor your friends this week if you can. Many times in our lives, when we are too desperate to brave explaining things to our families, we reach out for our friends, the ones who are there to listen, to come, and to help. Take pictures of your friends, call them, invite them to your home and make them some tea. Take comfort in remembering that adult friends are a big asset in an individual's life--the ones who will tell you things the way they are, braving your anger and anguish, but staying by your side, doing you a service. If you like, send me your photographs of your friends and I will post them to honor them. My friends have saved me from insanity more than once. It's true, they have danced, eaten, and partied with me a thousand times. But they came to my parents' funerals, to visit me in hospitals, to Vozara Complex to pick up my son, to collect me from an airport all broken and desolate, or rushed to my side when I called them in the middle of the night, sobbing and telling my incoherent tale of sorrow. Friends are important. Without them, we would be lonely and short of an important piece of ourselves and our identities. Call them, see them, kiss and hug them, surprise and photograph them, and show them your love. Have a fabulous weekend and be good y'all.

Sleep Walking Thursday

Lunch at my desk on a rainy Thursday.

So, I got caught up in a social gathering last night, coming home really late, and having to deliver on a promise I had made my friend to do something for him. I didn't get a chance to write a post or do anything else, going to bed at 4:00 a.m. All day today I sleep walked, suppressing yawns and fighting stupidity, a common side effect of sleep deprivation for me. Honestly, I don't know how successful I was! Right about now it's all a moot point, don't you think? I want to thank those of you who noticed my absence and kindly wrote to find out what happened to me last night. It's so nice to be missed!

My friend John and his partner adopted three orphaned brothers last year. I got a chance today to go visit him in his cubicle, asking after the boys and how they are doing. I adore this man. Can you imagine the immensity and importance of what they have done? Just like any doting father, he reached in his wallet and showed me his kids' school pictures and told me about the challenges of raising them, going from having no children one day to having three the next. I thought to myself that to find role models in our lifetime, sometimes all we have to do is walk over to the cubicle down the hall. He said to me that sometimes the thing that keeps him going is the hope that 20 years from now, one day he would find out that their decisions and actions would have mattered and would have been effective in those children's lives. I told him that I'm going through just such stage in my life with my children, and I can assure him that a lot of joy and satisfaction will await him then.

I am really tired now. I will go rest some and come back later to work on my dance story, post my final installment of Khosrow and Shirin on Iranian, and reply to your kind comments. Be good y'all.

A Relatively Good Tuesday

Photo By Ben Bagheri, Two Weeks in Iran, Iranian.com, January 2008.

It rained and rained and rained today, but the dreary weather and the miserable cold could do nothing to bring my spirits down. I had such a happy, energetic day, accomplishing things at work and thinking good thoughts. I am hoping to be finally coming out of the sickness and fatigue which has slowed me down for a few days now. I felt lighter and better than I had in a long time, hoping not to have a relapse tomorrow.

I did receive some sad news today. My friend at work says her husband finally told her yesterday that he wants a divorce. Was it my imagination or did she look relieved? I think she looked like she finally knew what was staring her in the eyes, and the not-knowing, the hoping, the struggle, had finally come to an end, and at least she knew what she was seeing. It is a shame, because it is a twenty-some year marriage with two grown children in it, but it appears that her husband has made up his mind. You know, most people don't wake up one day and announce "I think this is a good day to go talk about a divorce." The decision, unfortunately, is a process which for the most part happens in a couple's heads and hearts for a long time before it finds its way to their lips. That's why it is so hard for us to "talk people out of a divorce." In most cases the decision is not a spontaneous one and has taken years to be made. I am so sorry that while the decision was brewing in at least one of their heads, prompt action wasn't taken to avoid it. So, that was today's sad news. It is never a good day to see breakups and not be able to help. I wished everybody would fall in love and stay in love forever.

So, my sons have now each called me separately to see "what's cooking" for dinner! And I have no dinner, yet! I should run and make something now, and then sit down to my dancer story. If I can, I will come online and answer your kind comments later. Enjoy your breakfast, lunch, and dinner wherever on this planet you live! We will go very American tonight and have steaks and peas and potatoes! Bon appetit!

The Story We Never Heard

He says: "I was 9 when I started Ballet in Tehran. I had never seen ballet before in my life. My uncle was friends with Bijan Kalantari, who was a ballet dancer and a choreographer himself, and wanted to start the first Iranian ballet company from ground up, entirely with Iranian dancers, hoping to be able to perform internationally. Of the 14 students in the newly founded ballet program at Tehran's Music Conervatory (Honarestan-e-Ali-e-Moosighi), there were 12 girls and only two boys. I was one of them."

Seldom in my life have I felt such passion about a story, whether I have heard it, or I have told it myself. I am getting ready to tell you the story of a fascinating man. I have never met him. On the phone, he has one of the kindest, most honest, most confident voices I have ever heard. His winning charm is in his story, true, but there is something so Iranian about him, so belonging to the land I love. Brace yourselves. Soon you will see a gem uncovered, and I should hope that you know me modest enough to believe me when I tell you that the beauty of this story is only in the person who is at the center of it, nothing to do with the storyteller. I will just tell you the story. Give me a week. Be good y'all.

A Sunday In Solitude

Snow in Sanandaj, Kurdistan, January 2008.

صدای ترس

در گرمیِ يک چای تازه،

و محبّتی دوستانه،

و لحظه های خالی از کلمه،

حسّی لبريز از احتياج به انفجار،

قلبم را از پنجره

پرتاب می کند

تا دورترين عطر گل سرخ،

در بعد از ظهر باغی تنها

تا دختر کوچکی

که ابرها را می شمارد

در آسمانی آبی،

و صورتش را می فشارد

روی علفهای داغ،

دور از نگاه بزرگترها

حسّی لبريز از احتياج به انفجار

می خواهد

دور از صدای ترس

روی علفهای داغ

بخوابد

در بعد از ظهر باغی تنها

فريده فرجام

آمستردام – ژوئن ۲۰۰۱

This poem and this poet have something do do with the story I will tell soon. I will be back tomorrow to write a longer post. Be good y'all.

Confessing and Accomplishing Kookoo Sabzi

A member of the Mehregan Chorus performs at Fajr Music Festival, Tehran, December 2007. I so wished I could hear them sing.

I am feeling so light and relieved today. Those of you who have been reading me longer know that since July I have been talking about writing a story about an Iranian dance artist. I was working on my project happily, if a bit sluggishly, when two months ago I lost all my files, notes, links, and interviews in an unfortunate crash, unable to retrieve my files. I was so overwhelmed with grief and so embarrassed to call the artist again and to re-interview him. Finally, through a set of events, I did make contact with him again (he is a very gracious man) and we have renewed our commitment to do the story. I am so relieved to have finally confessed the problem to him. A huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders all of a sudden. We all know that it is really good to come clean when we have a problem, but somehow actually doing it can become a dilemma sometimes. Anyhow, I feel great about that. I will be working on it, brining you a fabulous story about an Iranian who has brought so much fame and honor to Iran and Iranians, but about whom very little has been known in the Iranian community over the past three decades. You will really really like this story, I promise.

I don't know if I mentioned that my sons' friend, Iden is living with us this semester, so until further notice, I have three sons in my house! Today Iden and I were alone in the house. I heard him talk his sweet Azari to his mother in Iran on the phone, and I remembered the days my son was living away from me in Europe and then in the US, when I was missing him and worrying about him all the time. Anyhow, all this past week I was feeling weak, so I hadn't gone grocery shopping, and a house that has three young men living in it becomes devoid of food very quickly. Looking in the refrigerator, I found some items with which to make a salad and some kookoo sabzi today, and Iden and I had lunch together. It makes me happy that he was studying math all day. I have never seen my kids study like this, and it's a wonder to me how they pass their courses, but they do. I washed the dishes and cleaned the counters and looking back at the clean kitchen after several days' neglect, I thought to myself that when I'm tuned in to my environment, like I was all day today, there is so much more to see and about which to feel happy and accomplished. Even the simplest, silliest of things can become a reason to feel happy and satisfied.

I'm around this evening, working on my "relationships" piece. I'll be online until I pass out, so perhaps we can chat "online" if you care to leave comments tonight. Be good y'all.

Being Ba Vafa

Sima Bina and her all-women band perform "Majoon Naboodom" in Germany.

It's Friday. So, it wasn't the most productive of weeks for me, at least not physically. Though sick, I had a good week, filled with kindness and affection of friends and family. Your good vibes were received and much appreciated. My sons and Iden are getting ready to go celebrate their youth on a Friday night in San Francisco. Ho Hum...I'm not going to worry about their driving in the pouring rain or anything of that kind. At least they have agreed to stay at their friend, Ghazal's house for the night, so I won't worry about their getting home very late. On the upside, I have a beautiful roaring fire going and the house all to myself, so I can listen to my music in a little bit.

My work on the "relationships" piece is compiling nicely. Ha Ha, I have enough material to write a book on that subject! Have you ever noticed how much better we are at discussing other people's relationships than we are in discussing our own?! The truth is that I have been an utter failure myself when it comes to relationships with men. Up until two years ago, I was married all my life. None of this "dating" business feels familiar or comfortable to me, as a result. I get so easily confused about signals and intentions and wishes, something sooooo humiliating in a middle-aged woman who is expected to be a lot more experienced and mature. The men I find attractive usually don't appear terribly attractive to my friends (well, they think my taste in men sucks!). None of the men I like are terribly handsome, that's true, because looks are so overrated in my opinion. I like intelligent men, those who can think and talk and tell me things I have never heard before. So far we don't have a problem, right? WRONG! The men I like, yes, the "intelligent" ones, either like women a lot younger than me, or they claim that they are very messed up and cannot commit! With all due respect for the institution of marriage, I don't believe that in second and third "versions" of partnership in life, a legal marriage is the absolute form of commitment. The commitment I'm talking about is one in which two people who have their own lives and homes and families are in an adult companionship which is meaningful to both of them, never having to worry what the other one is up to, and who else might be in his or her life, committing to be monogomous. All my life I have thought jealousy to be such a waste of perfectly good emotion and energy; energy that can better be spent loving, trusting, laughing, dancing, and enjoying life. To spend time "wondering" is a destroyer of life and hope, in my opinion. Well, I am tempted to conclude that relationships are just too hard in my station in life. I have been thinking recently that I must just give it up, and when I get one more tap on the shoulder from another man at work or in social and cultural setups, whether he is Iranian, American, younger, older, handsome, or ordinary-looking, I should just tell him off and be left to my own devices. There, for some reason I just told you more about myself than I was willing to say for a long time!

For here and now, though, never mind all that. Let's think about relationships that are present in our lives here and now. Those good friends, those loving partners, those beautiful children, those lovely nieces and nephews, and those wonderful siblings and parents. They are here. They are real. They expect very little, don't usually send confusing signals, and they are committed to us, and most of them are with us for the duration of our lives. Let's take joy in them. Let's go and surprise them with a bear hug, one of those hugs where you won't let go for a long time, kiss their cheeks, hold their hands, look into their eyes, and tell them "asheghetam," "dooset daram," "I love you," "I am proud of you," or a simple "mokhlesim." How about that? Time and energy spent on loving and trusting is never wasted. It is an investment that will pay off tenfold. To be "ba vafa" is an immeasurable and invaluable asset. Be "bavafa" this weekend. Try it. I'm going to hug my kids and Iden before they take off. Have a good weekend and be good y'all.

The Sun Rises (Aftab Mishavad)

Narenjestan-e Ghavam, Shiraz, Photo by Parviz Forghani

There is a strange symmetry between how the sun and the clouds have been fighting each other all day and how my body and that awful virus have been going at it. Our rainy and cold day gave way briefly to that beautiful patch of sunshine which did manage to come out a little while ago, only to get obliterated quickly by raining clouds. I'm happy, but my body has given in to the fatigue and ickiness of the virus, making me feel weak and achy. I had to stay home another day to rest. When we live by ourselves, there is no other person to hear us coughing and feel us sweating all night, and telling us in the morning that we must stay home and take it easy. We have to do it for ourselves. That process is not always easy, because usually the sick person is stubborn and won't heed our call easily and we have to get mean to return them to bed to rest! I have had to be mean to myself to shut down my usually very elaborate and active life. I sit here and think and go lie down and think some more, and try to sleep, and can't. I hate being sick. I want the sun to come out and I want to feel good again, fast.

Speaking of the sun, let me try again to post that Forough poem today. It is appropriate, I believe.

The Sun Rises (Aftab Mishavad)

Look how sorrow in my eyes

melts to water drop by drop,

how my rebellious shadow falls

captive to the sun.

Look. Sparks ignite me,

flames engulf me,

carry me high,

trap me in the sky.

Look how my universe

now streams with shooting stars.

You came from far, far away,

from the realm of perfume and light,

seated me on a canoe of ivory, of glass and clouds.

Take me now, my hope, my solace,

to the place of desires,

carry me to the city of rapture and rhymes.

You draw me up a flickering path,

seat me higher than all the stars,

but look these stars scorch me,

burn me, and I, like a feverish red fish,

nip at them in the pool of night.

How distant did our world once lie

from these chambers of the sky,

but now your voice reaches me,

the sound of angels' snow wings.

Look how I've soared to galaxies,

to shorelessness, eternity.

Now that we have come so high,

wash me in the waves of wine,

fold me in each silky kiss,

crave me through the lingering nights.

Don't release me, do not

part me from these stars.

Look how night along our path

melts like wax in drops, in drops,

my dark eyes drink sleep's wine

from your cup of lullabies.

Upon the cradles of my poetry

you waft your breath and look,

the sunrise floods us with light.

From Sin, Selected Poems of Forough Farrokhzad, Translated by Sholeh Wolpe, The University of Arkansas Press, Fayetteville, 2007.

Tree of Life

Shahram Nazeri at artists' visit with Khatami, Tehran, December 2008.

Hello, Hello! I'm alive! Thank you all for your good wishes and kind comments. I think my body is fighting some vicious virus and leaves me so tired and depleted. I am fine and back to my usual mischievious ways! If you promise not to laugh at me, I should also tell you that this morning when I woke up at 5:30 to get ready to go to work, in the pitch black darkness, just as I was realizing that I'm not fit to go into work, I ran into the folding cabinet door around the washing machine in the hallway, and cut and bruised my lip, looking a swollen and crooked sight throughout the day! Ha Ha, it was a stupid accident which sent me right back to bed! I intermittently smiled at the bruise all day, except that it hurts a bit if I try to smile my big smiles!

I should tell you that my music review was published. I reviewed Shahram and Hafez Nazeri's new Album, Passion of Rumi. It is a beautiful piece of music and you can go here to listen to samples of that music. Listen to the track called "The Passion of Rumi," and you will see why I liked this music so much. You can also read my humble review here. I would like to hear your opinions about the music and my review if you find it of interest to you.

Being sick and staying home, I had time to think a bit today. My life continues to be affected by the new acquaintances and friendships I have been forming over the past few weeks. I am learning new things about myself and about life, and this continues to have elements of surprise and pain at times. I was thinking today that for all its ups and downs, I wouldn't have changed my life for any other, and if I had been given another chance to live, I would have made those same decisions as I did, to make sure that I would get the same life, with joys as only I have known and pains as only I have suffered, growing roots and branches and leaves exactly where I have them on my tree. I love my tree of life.

Thinking of Forough

The gutter (navdoon) of my house.

I just got home after a very long day. It rains and I'm suddenly very tired, with a sore throat and no hoseleh. I will come back tomorrow to reply to your beautiful, kind comments. Today is already finished for me, tired and not feeling very well. I tried to post a Forough poem tonight, and just as I was finished typing it, I erased it by mistake. I just don't have the energy to re-do it. I'm going to bed, thinking of Forough. I'm confident I'll be good as new tomorrow morning. Until then, be good y'all.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

"When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!" (from the speech delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963.)

Today is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. Few individuals have touched contemporary world history as he has. He was a man in the business of hope. While cognizant of and outraged by injustice, he chose the way of peace and hope and promoting that hope to a people disadvanted, discriminated against, and disheartened. To listen to his speeches and to read his quotes, I am always saddened to know that such a truly special man lived a very short life, unable to give more to humanity.

My African American friends celebrate this day. I celebrate this day, too, as it marks the memory of an extraordinary man, whose words and thoughts continue to eccho through modern history, reminding us all that good leaders can help people overcome their despair and find a way to be seen, heard, and acknowledged for their rights without the need to resort to violence. How can I not be filled with respect for a man who said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." I so wished there were more people and more world leaders like him.