Shokufeh is... home

Life goes on

Things I want to write about but am trying to refrain from because I still haven't written about pilgrimage:

All this to say life goes on and, eventually, I'll catch up to writing about it.

The sheath confusion

The first time I was faced with a plastic sheath-covered (is that redundant?) toilet seat, I was confused. I was a few months shy of 22 years old, a college graduate, I'd lived in NYC, considered myself relatively savvy. And I was a complete germaphobe, prone to blurting, "Outbreak!" when confronted with anything that challenged my sense of cleanliness. But, when I faced the sheath, all common sense disappeared.

Instead of thinking, "Maybe I should wave my hand / press this button and new sheath will roll forward," I thought, "Let me sit myself down here and then prepare new plastic covering for the next person."

Just an embarrassing moment in my past that crossed my mind when I walked into a stall and found that the paper toilet seat cover of the last user had not been flushed. So then I assumed that the last user prepared the seat for me. Don't worry, that's a mistake I've made only once. Why it matters so much, I don't know. Just a sense of propriety, I guess

Pilgrimage - the first few days

Text to follow.

New hair

I'm a bit embarrassed - here I am, finally posting a picture from Pilgrimage. But for the purposes of a "before" picture. Ignore that for a moment, and admire the olive tree grove of Bahji in the background. So lovely.

Okay, moving on. Here's the "after."

Yep, quite a change. I've been wanting to go back to short hair for a while, but was waiting, for a bit of a goofy reason - I figure that there aren't that many events in adult life that are well documented, but that Pilgrimage would qualify. And for my wedding I had short hair. And I didn't want our kids to click/flip through our picture albums and think their mother always had short hair. So I waited. Like I said, goofy reason.

I never did write about my hair frustrations, but I guess I should write a few sentences about it. I have hair that reflects neither of my heritages - it's thin, fine, no longer as wavy or curly as it once was (my teens to early 20s), nor as straight as it once was (until I hit puberty). Once in a while I hit upon a good cut for it in its longer state, but it took me a while here. It's hard having hair like mine on an island where most people have long, thick, straight hair. Or if they don't, that's what they want. Some months ago, I went to get a cut, and I could just tell that not only was I disappointed with the cut, the hairdresser was too. But it's because when I asked her to enhance its waviness, she seemed to think that she played no role in that. She didn't layer it enough, and then applied some strange alcohol-based product, stuck me under a dryer, and then did these weird smoothing motions with her hands. And then giggled nervously, saying, "Well, maybe it'll get a little wavy later." Ugh. But then I found someone that could cut my hair in a way to play up my waves, and I liked my hair again. Which allowed me to cut it. Because I didn't want to cut it out of hate. I wanted to cut it short again because it suits me.

Apropos of nothing

Last May, when Sam and I got back from China, we noticed that a nearby Burger King was tented. I was convinced it was due to a rodent problem, having never seen a BK tented for termites - they're generally made of cement and glass. The next day, when I went back to work, my suspicions were confirmed - apparently, there'd been a big news story about all the rats in the neighboring vacant lot and the spillover to the BK. Eeew!

Thankfully, we'd never eaten there, so I didn't have to freak out on a personal level. The tenting came off, business resumed. But every time we passed it, I referred to it as the RatBurger King. I guess everyone else did, too. When we got back from Israel, we noticed that the BK signs are gone and a temporary fence now surrounds the building.

Poor RatBurger King.

Unrelated: George, I just noticed that you wrote my 1000th comment! Pretend balloons and confetti fell from the ceiling.

Back

I'm back home. And tired. We reached Honolulu Saturday evening, after about 60 hours in transit, including a 9+ hour flight from Atlanta to Hononolu. I find long flights in the daytime tortuous. Unfortunately, that's generally the way incoming flights are scheduled here. Preceding that were:

Okay, I've now bored you and me. Entries to come regarding Pilgrimage itself. I am currently suffering from jet lag, getting whiffs of perfume at times when it seems that there is no perfume around, and thinking my food tastes a little like soap.

Just checking in

We've stopped in an internet cafe, so I thought I'd say a quick hi. It's been less than a week since leaving Honolulu, but it seems like so much longer - all the time spent on numerous planes, the day spent walking through The Gates in Central Park (with snow on the ground!), a disappointing day in Zurich costing way too much money, and, of course, the profound experience of Pigrimage so far.

I've been blown away by the physical beauty of things I'd seen to date only in photographs. I've been moved by the things I've heard and the way I've been treated. And I have a hard time conveying the spirtual aspects of the experience. So I guess I won't keep trying to do so.

I probably won't write again until we return to Honolulu, unless I get a chance to write about the return of the ringstone (or, rather, the acquisition of the ringstone that is now returning - confusing, I know, but a good story).