Wednesday Morning
Wednesday morning is the beginning of the end of the working week.
I have begging questions lining the hallway that leads from my bedroom to the kitchen. With outstretched arms and palms up they plead with their eyes. I can read from their eyes what it is they ask for today.
There are familiar faces asking:
Who set all of this in motion?
What's it all about?
Why are we here?
Where is this path taking me? (yawn)
When will my destiny be revealed? (another yawn)
When I know what it is that I am fated to do, will I be strong enough l to accept its challenge without blinking or stammering or feeling the urge to fight or take flight?
Oh bugger off, I tell them.
I don't have to tell them more than once. They are more dignified than Indian beggars. They are more like Sri Lankan or Nepalese beggars. One half-assed, weary "bugger off" and they leave me alone.
There are the new guys who joined this crowd when I turned fifty and quickly learned then when I say bugger off, they may as well retract there arms and squat Asian style.
Is there something waiting for me once I am shed of skin and bones?
Will next year be the year I go Mac or Linux freeing myself of the Greatest Satan, his constant updates and patches,his empty Mephostophelian/Satanic (MS) promises?
There's a young beggar in the kitchen I don't recognize who humbly asks, "Why do you set your clock to get up an hour and forty five minutes before you need to leave? I know you think you need at least four cups of coffee before performing your pre-dawn ablutions. but if you slept the extra hour, don't you think you would get more rest and not need four cups of coffee?"
The young beggar hasn't learned that I am bakheel with answers, a miser.
Bugger off! I scream and raise my fists.
The ragged urchin runs from the kitchen and hides beneath the shabby sarong of "Will my good deeds outweigh the bad when I step before my final Judge?"
Then I fix my first of four cups of Nestcafe return to the bedroom and log on to life dot com.
Abu Dhabi is a beautful city.
Many of its streets have been designed using blueprints of Jennah, Fardous, Paradise, Heaven as described in Torah, Bible and Qu'ran. And it is close to Christmas. Date Palms with entangled Christmasy lights have never made me wish harder for a real Christmas, the snow blankets and frosty windows, the scent of pine and bourbon, the Christmas I think is either a memory or something I once read in a book.
Christmas among palm trees, sandy beaches, and people who know people who can get whatever I need for half the price wasn't something I first experienced when I came to the Arabian Gulf.
I used to have similar Christmases back when I spent a few years running with a clan of New York type Hebrews in Miami.
Today I run with different category of Semites who don't realize how much they have in common with their lox and bagels eatin' first cousins.
Back home, an old friend, seen on my profile photo singing into a microphone, is now living Somewhere, Anywhere, USA with two kids; she is one family of hundreds of thousands who are without a city this year. The place I called home. Unlike Texas, you don't (or didn't) have to have New Orleans on your birth certificate to call it home. Anyone who passes (passed) through and stays (would stay) for a few while can (I mean used to) call it home if they so desired.
Desire. Not only the cause of all our pain as stated in one of the first of four noble truths in Buddhism. Desire Street. Desire Housing Street projects.
Can't, I mean couldn't get there by streetcar anymore.
Used to have a bus. Guess Christmas in the Oaks is not on this year.
Mr. Bingle was history anyway.
So was Nash Roberts. Strange--they disappeared around the same time. And you never saw them in the same room at the same time. Nash would have made that nasty ol' hurricane go somewhere else.
Ahh New Orleans, where'y'at, sugar?
It's Christmas in Heaven,
All the children sing,
It's Christmas in Heaven,
Hark hark those church bells ring.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
The snow falls from the sky...
But it's nice and warm and everyone
looks smart and wears a tie.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
There's great fil ms on TV...
`The Sound of Music' twice an hour
And `Jaws' I, II, and III.
There's gifts for all the family,
There's toiletries and trains...
There's Sony Walkman Headphone sets
And the latest video games.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
Is Christmas day.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
It's Christmas day.
I have begging questions lining the hallway that leads from my bedroom to the kitchen. With outstretched arms and palms up they plead with their eyes. I can read from their eyes what it is they ask for today.
There are familiar faces asking:
Who set all of this in motion?
What's it all about?
Why are we here?
Where is this path taking me? (yawn)
When will my destiny be revealed? (another yawn)
When I know what it is that I am fated to do, will I be strong enough l to accept its challenge without blinking or stammering or feeling the urge to fight or take flight?
Oh bugger off, I tell them.
I don't have to tell them more than once. They are more dignified than Indian beggars. They are more like Sri Lankan or Nepalese beggars. One half-assed, weary "bugger off" and they leave me alone.
There are the new guys who joined this crowd when I turned fifty and quickly learned then when I say bugger off, they may as well retract there arms and squat Asian style.
Is there something waiting for me once I am shed of skin and bones?
Will next year be the year I go Mac or Linux freeing myself of the Greatest Satan, his constant updates and patches,his empty Mephostophelian/Satanic (MS) promises?
There's a young beggar in the kitchen I don't recognize who humbly asks, "Why do you set your clock to get up an hour and forty five minutes before you need to leave? I know you think you need at least four cups of coffee before performing your pre-dawn ablutions. but if you slept the extra hour, don't you think you would get more rest and not need four cups of coffee?"
The young beggar hasn't learned that I am bakheel with answers, a miser.
Bugger off! I scream and raise my fists.
The ragged urchin runs from the kitchen and hides beneath the shabby sarong of "Will my good deeds outweigh the bad when I step before my final Judge?"
Then I fix my first of four cups of Nestcafe return to the bedroom and log on to life dot com.
Abu Dhabi is a beautful city.
Many of its streets have been designed using blueprints of Jennah, Fardous, Paradise, Heaven as described in Torah, Bible and Qu'ran. And it is close to Christmas. Date Palms with entangled Christmasy lights have never made me wish harder for a real Christmas, the snow blankets and frosty windows, the scent of pine and bourbon, the Christmas I think is either a memory or something I once read in a book.
Christmas among palm trees, sandy beaches, and people who know people who can get whatever I need for half the price wasn't something I first experienced when I came to the Arabian Gulf.
I used to have similar Christmases back when I spent a few years running with a clan of New York type Hebrews in Miami.
Today I run with different category of Semites who don't realize how much they have in common with their lox and bagels eatin' first cousins.
Back home, an old friend, seen on my profile photo singing into a microphone, is now living Somewhere, Anywhere, USA with two kids; she is one family of hundreds of thousands who are without a city this year. The place I called home. Unlike Texas, you don't (or didn't) have to have New Orleans on your birth certificate to call it home. Anyone who passes (passed) through and stays (would stay) for a few while can (I mean used to) call it home if they so desired.
Desire. Not only the cause of all our pain as stated in one of the first of four noble truths in Buddhism. Desire Street. Desire Housing Street projects.
Can't, I mean couldn't get there by streetcar anymore.
Used to have a bus. Guess Christmas in the Oaks is not on this year.
Mr. Bingle was history anyway.
So was Nash Roberts. Strange--they disappeared around the same time. And you never saw them in the same room at the same time. Nash would have made that nasty ol' hurricane go somewhere else.
Ahh New Orleans, where'y'at, sugar?
Lisa has composed a Christmas carole.
I will copy and paste the words to one peculiar ballad. (I can come up with great chord progressions but I never could write a lyric)
"It's Christmas in Heaven" by Monty Python If you are unfamiliar with the tune think "Calypso beat."It's Christmas in Heaven,
All the children sing,
It's Christmas in Heaven,
Hark hark those church bells ring.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
The snow falls from the sky...
But it's nice and warm and everyone
looks smart and wears a tie.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
There's great fil ms on TV...
`The Sound of Music' twice an hour
And `Jaws' I, II, and III.
There's gifts for all the family,
There's toiletries and trains...
There's Sony Walkman Headphone sets
And the latest video games.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
Is Christmas day.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
It's Christmas day.
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