shokufeh is…home

I’m a huge fan of TED and the talks they share. I’m also a huge fan of how social media shrinks the world. Lately, instead of spending time around here, I’ve been more likely to be on Twitter. This talk by Ev Williams so very nicely sums up why. I feel so blessed to live in this time, witnessing and being a part of its innovations.

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I think the most exciting thing about Ayyam-i-Ha this year is that MrMan is excited about it. I love hearing him say Happy Ayyam-i-Ha to us, and to his (somewhat confused) teachers this morning, as we gave them pots of flowers. Last night, as we were eating dinner, he suddenly commanded that we all hold hands and sing the Ayyam-i-Ha song.

I’ve found it challenging to be on top of Ayyam-i-Ha preparations this year. I knew it was coming, but then, suddenly! it was here. Even though at an LSA meeting a month or so ago, we discussed the fact that its start would coincide with the night of Ash Wednesday (only in New Orleans), it snuck up on me. And shopping is a bit challenging during Mardi Gras. I didn’t get around to doing an Ayyam-i-Ha letter/card/photo this year. I’m trying to be okay with that, and just focus on the things we are doing. Like a wee party tomorrow morning.

In other news…

When I went out last night (to get new sheets, for MrMan’s recently acquired twin bed! He’ll be so excited!), I also tried on jeans. I’m down to a pair a bought more than two years ago, and a pair I’ve had for more than twenty years. I think since 1985 or 6. They still fit, and I wore them the other night, but flattering is not the word that comes to mind. I was unsuccessful in my jean search of last night. I’m not sure which I hate more – jean shopping or swimsuit shopping. I think these processes are the material equivalent of parenthood.

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Today was my last day of jury duty. I think I’ll miss it.

I haven’t yet figured out if most people truly dislike jury duty, truly dislike the idea of jury duty, or just think they’re supposed to dislike jury duty and therefore speak disparagingly of it. I think it’s a great honor, a duty, a service. Part of life in this country of ours. Kind of like voting. We can’t choose just parts of living in a democracy and under its structures.

Sure, there were days when it was boring. When it grew tiresome to sit in one seat. It seems like there would be limits to the amount of time I can sit and read the same book. Or watch daytime tv from across the room. Or stare into space while eavesdropping on the conversations of those who are more skilled in the ways of striking up casual relationships with strangers.

But then I would look around and enjoy the people in the room. There was everyone there. One day, I delighted in the four people sitting in a row nearby. There was the black man, probably in his late 20s to mid 30s, with dreads and baggy clothes, fond of talking and using the word fuck. Then the middle-aged white uptown lady, in her patterned cardigan, slacks, and flats. Then the quiet black man, clean shorn and shaven and conservatively dressed, probably in his 40s. Then the Vietnamese-American woman, 30-something, in her tidy jeans. Only on jury duty might you find these collection of people sitting next to one another.

There was the annoying guy who spoke to anyone who would listen, and those who didn’t want to, about the fall of the Twin Towers being an inside job, and not due to the planes. There were the two women – one younger, one more middle-aged – who like their particular spot in the room, for watching the Today show. There was the row of guys who set close to the outlet (and wireless reception), so they could work on their laptops. The older guy with white hair, plaid shirts, highwaters, and brightly colored Converse. The group of uptown women who planned out their Mardi Gras menus and called in their orders for the food. The woman from the west bank who, during voir dire, was bold enough to ask the inexperienced lawyer how this line of questioning was helping in the juror selection. The young man next to her who talked about getting out of there and getting loaded. The young man next to him who needed to go pick up his kids. The middle-aged woman, reminding me somehow of my grandmother, with at least two versions of the same outfit – patterned denim jeans and a bolero style jacket. The two guys constantly going out for smoke breaks, a little bit bleary-eyed, one with long dreads, the other with a do-rag. The guy with a waxed mustache and a braided and waxed beard.

I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t have the chance to sit on a jury. I was intimidated by the individual voir dire, sitting in the judge’s chambers with a slew of lawyers and the murder suspect. I was disarmed by not knowing how long I would have to wait at the courthouse each day. But I also got to catch up on some reading. I got some insight into the workings of our criminal court system. I got to ponder a little more my thoughts on prison and my wish for the prison passion (an entry in itself).  I got to watch some interesting people, and marvel at our diversity, all in one room. I got to serve this system that works – not always well, but trying, I like to think – to serve me.

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This morning, like many mornings, I was awakened by MrMan loudly announcing from his bedroom, “It’s morning! Mommy, Daddy*, it’s morning!”

This morning, like many mornings, I thought, Already? Can’t he just keep the news to himself?

I opened my eyes, and it was still dark. Not only is my child interfering with my sleep, he’s wrong. What’s up with that?

Then I shifted, moving my arms. And the blanket came off of my head. And the morning light streamed onto my face.

*MrMan now uses “Mommy” and “Daddy” in addition to his self-coined “Mee” and “Dee.” I’m partial to the latter.

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