Letter to Santa, Christmas 2008

Dear, Darling Santa,

Remember me?

I've waited abominably long this year to write my letter. However, let's cut to the chase: brief & to the point. I've been good all year long, whether sleeping or waking, I haven't cried nor have I begged, nor pouted. [no time to present the evidence; please take my word for it.]

Therefore with confidence, I offer my Christmas list and, as proof of my selfless [almost] nature, I've include lists for Maman et Papa. [I can only assume and sincerely hope that these lists truly reflect their desires.]

What I want for Christmas:

1 octopus stuffed toy

as many balls as possible

some tasty dental treats

and the biggest raw-hide bone available

Affection-Affection-Affection Papa's list:

1 Mercedes [C-series]

1 fancy crystal bowl

1 valuable antique

shirts that don't shrink [note: Maman does the laundry....]

Dearest Maman's list:

a fancy dress in cloth of gold

an iPhone [twice the speed, 1/2 the price]

a European cake

Harry Winston jewelry
[don't look in the Paris store which, just in case you don't know, was knocked over & cleaned out by world-class thieves]

Dearest Santa, I love you very much and think of you all year long. I hope you fulfill all of our wishes. But please do note that my requests are the most modest, therefore [I assume] the most probable.

By the way, if you prefer certain kinds of cookies, or a beverage other than milk with which to refresh yourself before you leave our home, please let me know by writing a comment on my blog.

With all due respect and ever so much love, your friend Mercury Murphy

Yes We Can: my vote counted

Pal JPEG

Finally, after an unacceptably (and unaccountably) long delay, Maman et Papa invited JPEG, Amy and Peter to dine. Amongst the toasts, mutual admiration, and critical commentary (that seems to be how humans communicate, i.e. lots of talk-talk), JPEG & I were able to relax and simply enjoy one another's company.

We sniffed each other, exchanged a few bawdy stories, commiserated as the humans blandished endearments towards us, and so forth.

The pickings were good: pistachios, Mexican beef, Iranian-influenced tofu, chips with cheese, ice cream. Trust Maman et Papa to provide a copious spread.

JPEG teaches me new tricks, patiently taking my size into account. And he runs wildly, exuberantly through the house, locates lost toys, and in short, is a firm friend. I admire him more than I can say.

Cheers, JPEG, this one's for you. Please return soon & frequently to your friend, Mercury

Relaxing, Eating, & Writing

I've been struck by the frequency with which my best writing comes after a relaxing snooze or a beautiful and tasty meal. Finally I've decided to analyze how & why such is the case & to share my findings with you, my loyal friends & fans.

Relaxing: Lounging around frees the mind to hear and see, smell and feel the sounds, sights, and experiential aspects of life too often ignored in our get-ahead-quickly world. From the vantage point of my bed, I explore a world of ideas untapped as I go about my daily round.

Eating: What's finer than a great meal, loving prepared and loving appreciated? A gourmet probably figures as the happiest being in life, savoring the subtle flavors of a fantastic meal, leaning back for sparkling conversation, drinking a superb wine while appreciating its subtle scents and colors. Each meal, a work of art.

Writing: When the body is soothed and the senses stimulated, therein lies the premium state of being for creating a thoughtful, well written (dare I say?) masterpiece.

Friends & fans, I can only recommend you follow my example, for whether you write a chef d'oeuvre or a letter home to your Maman et Papa, relaxing & eating are your pathway to success.

Please send your own stories about the value of relaxing & the pleasures of eating by clicking the comments option below.

'Til next time, your friend Mercury Murphy

Do Dogs Smile?

I enjoy a walk through the neighborhood with Mama. Sometimes, as I become winded, I open my mouth revealing my (well cared-for) teeth. When this happens Mama looks at me and says:

"Oh, you're smiling, you're so cute & darling, that makes me so happy, you make me smile too."

At home I contemplate the age-old dog question. Why must human beings anthropomorphize dogs?

We are not human beings and although domesticated, we share very little of their means of communication. For example, humans seem to use their voices excessively while dogs communicate through body language and subtle glances.

Do dogs smile? I suppose it's all in the eyes, and the intentions, & beliefs, of the beholders. Yes, I enjoy the walks with Mama, and on the weekends the special treat, walks with Mama et Papa. But my facial expression corresponds to my elevated heart-beat rate. As a point of information, dogs may work out, but we do not sweat.

I shall ever wonder at the apparent need for humans to believe that dogs share their own characteristic behaviors and emotions. And perhaps I pity them for their incessant desire to find among a higher species shared communication patterns.

Defense

A dog's life involves responsibilities and concomitant dangers. Here's an example.

First, to put it in its context, one of my responsibilities is to protect our house and property. Another is to watch over the neighborhood more generally.

Second, we live at a busy T-intersection. Many cars, school buses, small trucks and delivery vans speed by daily. Furthermore, the sidewalks provide tree-lined pathways for neighbors and students from the nearby high school. Walkers, joggers, bikers, parents pushing prams, etc.

I trust this sketch wil help you comprehend the example I shall now relate:

This morning, a gray and blustery morning, I was outdoors on the porch with Mama. A Large Dog, wearing a collar but no tags, broke into our space, approaching the screened porch and rampaging around our property. He said he wanted to play, but why should I believe him? I knew what I had to do--first the low growl, then the full-out bark.

"Arf, arf," I cried.

The Large Dog opened his mouth and showed off his tongue.

"Arf, arf," I shouted.

After several returns of this sort, the Large Dog ran away. And I chalked up another success in the dangerous but satisfying job with which I am trusted.

Nostalgia

The July 21, 2006 entry presents my curriculum vita. There you will learn that I graduated from Pawtropolis.

What you may not know is that I took a summer session at Oxford University, Jesus College.

Now, as the weather begins to cool, I think of that brilliant Oxford summer: the intellectual stimulation, the fascinating history of the town & of Jesus College, the diversity of experiences, and yes, the ever changing, always lovely weather. Trips to London, to the Cotswolds villages, to heritage sites, and more. How I long to walk again the nooks & crannies, to find the unexpected used book store or charity shop. How I value the small mementos with which I returned.

I have visited England several times and accompanied Mama to Paris & Versailles. But it is that summer at Jesus College that remains a cornerstone of the best times of my life.

I can wish nothing better for you, my loyal friends & fans, the opportunity to visit England and, if possible, to study in Oxford.

Cyborg?

William Gibson wrote Neuromancer in 1984, years before the internet became one of our main means of communication. I first read it while relaxing in my bed (the one that looks like the sort of shoe they call mules) and I was blown away by my first encounter with cyber-punk science fiction.

Now I'm considering the meaning of Cyborg. I found this definition, among many others, by conducting a "define: cyborg" google search:


"a human who has certain physiological processes aided or controlled by mechanical or electronic device"

My Mama et Papa love the TV show, Star Trek: the next generation. The borg play an increasingly important role, threatening the galaxy, if not the universe, with their version of complete freedomWhat about the term "borg?"

"The Borg are a fictional pseudo-race of cyborgs depicted in Star Trek.....
depicted as an amalgam of cybernetically enhanced humanoid drones of multiple species, organized as an inter-connected collective with a hive mind...."*

The photos above serve 2 functions. The first:

I wouldn't want to disappoint my friends & fans by omitting a recent portrait.

Second:

Has the human brain changed radically, or even partially to resemble, not the first photo above, but the 3rd? What would be the implications of this transformation for me in particular and dogs in general? Please feel free to add your thoughts on these topics by clicking comments below.

*quoted from wikipedia. I have included their links which you can click on with my disclaimer.

Days of the Dog

Let's think about this for a moment.
Calumny towards dogs appears to be rampant.

Common Sayings
Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid-day sun
Dog Days of Summer

Film titles
Reservoir Dogs
How to Kill Your Neighbors Dog
Straw Dogs

Why pick on ever-faithful dogs while others of the animal kingdom are lauded. Check out the Lion King or even (see my title) Night of the Iguana. In that last film, the never-faithful iguana is set free; the former was so popular that a Broadway musical was created based solely on a children's cartoon.

In short, although mankind claims that his--or her--dog combines the qualities of companion, physician, and valued family member, the idiom of the English language suggests otherwise.

I recommend that people carefully examine their speech habits and frankly, mend their ways.

What's in My Name?

What's in my name? Perhaps you've wondered how I received the name Mercury Murphy Roushanzamir. Read the entry of August 12, 2006, or enjoy this, a shorter version, in which some new facts are brought to light.

The breeder who sent me across country to Mama et Papa had named me "Ellie Mae," a ludicrous name and yet a fortunate one. For Mama was drawn to me as we shared the same first name [although spelled differently].

Mama et Papa knew that Ellie Mae would certainly never fit my personality; it struck them as both silly and undignified. And recognizing my heritage, i.e. French, Irish, and Persian they considered deeply and well.

Murphy, of course, reflects my Irish background and was chosen in deference to my Grandpere's wishes. Roushanzamir,obviously, my family name.

Freddie Mercury , of Queen, was the inspiration for my given name. For Freddie Mercury was a Persian, grew up in England, and was bravely creative, becoming a world renowned musician and artist.

Multi-cultural, highly creative, and equally productive, an artist of great talent, an iconoclast, these characteristics describe Freddie Mercury, just as they dovetail with my own intellectual and psychological circumstances.

Faithful Fans & Friends, I hope you will take a moment to explore the link highlighted at Freeddie Mercury's name above. He was a hero to many and I am his namesake.

For the longer story of the origins of my name, Mercury Murphy Roushanzamir, click the keyword Freddie Mercury [below].

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing, Part 3

Greetings:

Here is the final part of my poem; my own favoritesection is the footnote!

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing

This song will end, with rejoicing,
as desires, not covered and poverty, embattled while unfelt.
Education sought. Enlightenment explored.
Joyful gatherings exchanged. And the food, glorious food.*1

Sing the phases of the day. And amongs it all I [re]trod Tehran's present cross-roads to Mehrabad International.
Overwhelmed with foot, relatives, geography, history, current events, joy, And finally you, Husband to whom I dedicate this song, Saeid, rejoicing.


*1. Break of day/6:30AM: Melita-brewed coffee, filter & coffee traveled from the States.

Breakfast/ 8AM: Sugared tea, feta cheese, barbari, nutella.

Lunch/2PM: Horesht Badamjun, rice with tadik, vegetable, Coca Cola, water, doorgh, sugared tea.

Dinner/10PM: Gormeh Sabsi, rice with takik, vegetable, Coca Cola, water, doorgh, sugared tea.

Guests' Meal/Anytime between 3-11PM: banana, apple, cucumber, kiwi, pastry, candies, sugared tea.

Please feel free to send your own poems by clicking on comments below or send them to Mama's email address & she'll post them for you.

Your friend, M2

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing, Part 2

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing, Part 2

Now it's time: Mehrabad to Ahvaz.
Iranian Airlines serves a hot meal on china.
And landing one hour later, the oil fields, haze of 100-degrees farenheit mingle with the
pollution that supports the city. Ahvaz.

Foremost, Mamajun, mother-in-law, sisters, brothers, nephews,
nieces. Rejoice cousins, aunts, uncles, boys & girls, teens and parents and all you
children, rejoice.
In the midst of flowers and food and years of talk, rejoice.

Dare I name each? Let's begin:
Manijeh
Saeid
Massoud & Manujher &Fariba & Shireen & Katy & Mushtaba,
Ali, Ashkan, Shakiba, Sharia, Sharzad!
(The infamous) Parsa & Golsa.
And begin again: Amu Hassan Aragh, with the '38 Vespa & Ameh Pooran his wife.,
Mother of Dariush who's married to Fariba, step mom of Pegah, mother of Parisa.
And my friend Mossein with his hip shop, "Hello!"
Nikoo who paints with a deep-light touch.
Trippy Ali Yazdanian, latterly of India and now publishing his works of art stled
as 21st century "revolutionary spectrums."

Only 75% omitted.
Tehran, Ahvaz, Brougherd, Doorod, the mountains in between and
Isfahan.
Over 75% omitted.

Faithful Readers, please return soon to read the concluding verse of my poem about Iran & my Persian family written from the perspective of an arm-chair traveler. As you already know Part 1 appears in the previous entry.

Cheers, from your friend, Mercury

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing Part 1

My dear friends & fans, Mama et Papa have not yet seen fit to travel with me to Iran, and yet I feel I know that country as I would a distant, but precious cousin. Thus I've written a poem to share with you. Part 1 concerns Tehran. Part 2 skims Ahvaz, Brougherd, Doorood and the mountains along the western boarder. Part 3 explores my family and the food I know they'd serve me-- if they had the chance to do so. So please relax and enjoy this arm chair traveler's tribute to Iran. And note that two of the photos above were shot by my friend in Tehran, Soban, whose erudite blog, Culture & Communication, I urge you to visit.

Song of Tehran, Rejoicing
part 1

May 2005, 3 weeks before Iran's national elections.
Among protests and international nuclear oversight, stand amongst it all, The Carpet Museum,
The Museum of Contemporary Arts. Overwhelmed by happiness as I trod ancient
cross-roads,
I meet 100 close relatives, visit tourist sites and also rejoice.

Tehran. Decorated with fresh flowers
With neon sculptures in each [round] square
Tehran's symphony blares cars, cycles, messenger bikes and voices, belching smog.
One longer line for 1 loaf of sangack, a shorter one, two or more.
North Tehran in early evening cools the heat of a day's frenetic work.
Students gather relaxed, eating cooked beans and cherries, chatting amongst themselves,
sequestered from grownups' ears & eyes, boys & girls, boys with girls.

Another northern neighborhood, each apartment a penthouse. Smelling of roses,
Chanel and beckoning everyone.

Bibi [bakery] marks a central location where girls & boys walk to school and later,
run home.


Please revisit my blog soon to discover my impressions of other areas & imagined experiences in Iran, to meet those 100+ relatives, and to enjoy arm-chair traveling with me.

Yours, M²

Mercury Encounters Beauty

Beauty often requires no [or little] comment. My wish for you, faithful readers, is that you encounter beauty daily.

My meal:

Computer with flowers

World map with flowers.

Me, basking in the sun.

Retraction

Fans and friends: You're in for a big disappointment. I've canceled my columns on mental health/illness and migraines. My co-author, Mama, is dragging her feet over this project.

She said,"I'm far too intrigued with the subject and the sheer vastness of resources is such that no superficial treatment will suffice."

"Superficial treatment!?," I replied haughtily.

She answered only with a grin that was almost a smirk.

End of story.

At least we explored the origins of moxie and it is fair to assert that Mama has plenty of it (the chutzpa, not the beverage). For that matter so do I.

So please return for other, perhaps lighter and more entertaining blog entries in the near future. And for those who must remain disappointed here are a few resources to help you pursue your own interest in mental health/illness and migraines. (in no particular order)

Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization.

Roy Porter, A social history of madness.

Darren Oldridge, Strange Histories.

Jeffrey M. Masson, Lost Prince.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night.

National Institute of Mental Health. "Bipolar Disorder."

and for more general information, google: mental illness NIH

Oliver Sacks, Migraine.

In closing, may you suffer neither mental illness nor migraines and I wish you the fullness of mental health and the pleasures of moxie!

Chill

In the midst of my meditation & research on migraines, mental illness [health?] and moxie, I pause to think of the blessings in my life.

For example: Mama et Papa and the loving home they make for me, walks in the neighborhood, dinner guests such as Amy,Peter & JPEG, a fine & diverse home library, & etc.
But what could be better than....

a personal 1992 4-door Toyota Corolla?

What more conducive to dog-happiness than tooling down the highway, on the way to nowhere, warm breezes ruffling my ears and rural Georgia yielding up it most secret treasures?

Note in the Toyota photo the stickers on the bumper. To the right, an artifact evoking wistful memories of my 3-weeks visit to Berlin as the wall came crumbling [literally] down.

But, on the left, the mark of ownership: a picture of a poodle, my name inscribed underneath.

Truly, the Toyota Corolla is the best car in the world & the best of the best resides in my garage.

If any of you, my loyal friends & fans, have car stories that can top mine, please use the comments section at the end of this entry.

[Any Vespa owners? You're also invited to share tales of Vespa adventures. And see photo of Amu (uncle in farsi) Hassan Aragh below. He kindly treated Mama to a ride on this fabulous machine (car in farsi) And may I recommend the film, Caro Diario.]

Amu Hassan Aragh, 1930s Vespa

Migraines, Mental Health [illness] and Moxie

Mama taught me that alliteration may be insidious, but used in moderation, acceptable, hence the title of today’s entry. As a title the above is misleading, since I plan to tackle each topic on separate days, beginning with the last & proceeding [?] backwards. In any case as the photo suggests, I'm in a serious mood, pondering weighty topics, and [in contrast, perhaps] dressed to the nines, i.e., dressed flamboyantly or smartly. [follow the link "dressed to the nines" for an exploration of the history of that expression]



Let’s explore the first [the last] term: MOXIE.



Backbone, fortitude, determination, guts: those are synonyms for the word moxie. As in, “A person [mentioning no names, for the present] who lives with and within mental illness and migraines with grace and without tormenting others excessively [note the qualification] has moxie.



But, moxie has another meaning, a history, if you will:



Moxie: The first carbonated soft drink to be mass-produced in the United States. It was invented by Augustin Thompson in Lowell, Massachusetts, and patented in 1876 as a medicine. It was marketed as a nerve food that would bestow the user with spunk. The Gentian root extracts use in Moxie’s production gives the beverage a bittersweet flavor with strong aftertaste. While driven off the general market due to stiff competition with corporate giants, it is still distributed in the New England States. Advertisements for Moxie can often be found within early view-cards. [follow the link at Moxie, the initial word of this paragraph]

What is Gentian root, the extract of which bestows a curative power, the Moxie’s punch? [follow the link at Gentian root, third word/s of this paragraph]

Mountain plant of which the root is used for preparing many liqueurs, aperitifs and digestives.

Are there curative powers in many liqueurs, aperitifs & digestives? Is it the root's extract or its combination with other ingredients? Are mental health/illness and/or migraines susceptible to any curative powers that may [or may not] exist?

Abrupt Ending -- a teaser for the following entries in which Mental Health/Illness [glass half full or half empty] and Migraines shall be discussed and then the 3 entries integrated in a 4th & final consideration.

Mama facebooks

In the past, Mama and I spent our days together pleasantly, watching Law & Order (the original is the best) or Maigret, Perry Mason or Inspector Morse DVDs, reading, walking outdoors, or just puttering around the house.

Ah, for the good old days.

In fact, my dear friend Lucy was the inadvertant cause of the demise of our long lovely days together. Lucy's Mama, Melinda, invited mine to be her facebook friend. Many had previously invited Mama; she steadfastly refused to reply. Until Melinda's invitation. And such is Mama's respect for Melinda, that she was unable to resist returning a resounding Yes.

Now Mama is facebook addicted. She turned facebook into a verb [i.e. facebooking, facebooked...]

She has spent hours creating her profile, joining groups, contacting long lost friends, opening photo albums. Granted, as far as the last is concerned, mine was the first album and has, as I recall, the greatest number of pictures. Her albums include those dedicated to: family, former graduate students, colleague-friends, other friends, my friends, Grady at Oxford 2004, Grady at Oxford 2005, etc. If the list isn't yet endless, there's every indication that her collection of albums will continue to grow at an alarming rate. She proceeds more gingerly with groups; but one established group had no wall entries (wall! what?) nor any pictures until Mama joined.

Furthermore, as a result of Mama's direct and indirect instigation, many more friends have accepted invitations and they in turn are connecting with their long lost friends. Even Papa has (reluctantly) succumbed. Even, Grandpere!

I seem to have been relegated to 2nd class status. I watch from my computer room bed (one of my 3 beds in our home) and wait, hoping for some slight recognition, even a mere glimmer of remembrance.

I find it ironic that Mama is reading an Agatha Christie novel just now that centers around a dead character: Rosemary, for remembrance.

Loyal fans and friends, please send your special messages across time & space in your hopes that Mama's sanity and my pleasurable days will return soon. [you may notice how plaintive I look in the photo above.

Mama Writes

Like me, Mama is a writer. She has published articles in academic journals such as Journal of Communication Inquiry, Critical Studies in Media Communication & Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly to name only 3. Those papers report on research findings & draw in particular on the theoretical frameworks of British cultural studies, (post-) structuralism and the knowledge-power nexus that Foucault wrote about so eloquently. She also owes a special debt to Roland Barthes.

Page proofs for a paper to be published in Qualitative Inquiry have been corrected & returned to the editor. This works marks a departure in style although her concerns remain the same. She considers this a performance piece; the late Spaulding Gray was an inspiration.

I'd like to pay a special tribute to Mama by previewing her work for you, my loyal readers/friends. Please read the abstract below.

“Peering Through the Crack
& Good-Bye to All That:
30 years of TV, Telephones,
Sports, Drugs, Etc.”


Elli Lester Roushanzamir
University of Georgia—Athens

Social relationships are enacted and remembered through interpersonal relationships and replayed through the media as the author uses a defining personal
experience, that of her son’s drug addiction, to rethink, analyze, and resituate
herself in the world. The result draws attention to the messy juxtaposition of
social structures and policies with personal loss, grief, anger, and episodes of
joy and courage. Crack, whether drug, fissure, gibe, highlights remembered
fragments which allow the author to tell her stories in ways other than those
originally considered. As those personal stories are interwoven with public
moments such as school desegregation and changes in telecommunications
and popular culture, a social commentary is offered that defamiliarizes the
familiar, evokes rather than represents, and therefore offers the reader entry
into the narrative, the cultural critique.

Keywords: autoethnography; substance abuse; crack cocaine; popular
culture; mass media

Summer Travels: Part 1

I have heard murmurings.

Whispering, Mama et Papa, mention such as: holiday, driving somewhere perhaps to Highlands, NC (where, they say, it's 20-degrees cooler), staying at a Bed & reakfast, driving their 1992 Toyota Corolla (Mama keep saying: "it's the best car in the world"), etc. etc.

The plans, which initially seemed to include me, took a turn for the worse when I overheard the euphemism Bed & Biscuit Suites. We all know what that means: they're going to board me! Me!!!

I've included a picture of Pawtropolis' suite.


To quote their from marketing pamphlet:

"Suites are complete with rugs, a full-size toddler bed and, of course, a flat-screen TV built into the wall. All suites have large windows for seeing what is going on. The suites provide a quieter environment. This is perfect for the ultimate spoiled pooch for the a dog that is very nervous or easily stressed. We are proud to offer a wide variety of movies such as; "Lady and the Tramp", "Air Bud", "The Fox and the Hound", "101 Dalmatians" and much more. Each Bed & Biscuit guest is brought to the outside potty yard four times throughout the day. Food and the potty breaks are included in the price as well as a Kong toy in their room."

Note the language: "very nervous or easily stressed," "toddler bed,"food and potty."

I am hoping that these discussions are merely the ravings of Mama et Papa, their odd response to the unbearable heat we've all been enduring.

In any case, loyal readers, I shall keep you posted.

Papa['s] Plants

Every other day Papa endures the early morning humidity to water the dogwoods [beautiful name] he has planted this year & last. Which would be fine were it not for the fact that he imposes on me as a sort of jobbing gardener. Don't get me wrong. I love well-tended gardens. The parks of Paris, the home gardens in England including the famous, beautiful garden at Blenheim Palace, the manicured walkways in Williamsburg. But as for tending them myself! As Mama would say, "I don't think so." Here I include 2 pictures of Papa's dogwoods (there are 4 in all), planted & lovingly (by Papa if not by me) attended, for your pleasure.

[& please follow the links above for more information/pictures of Paris parks, English gardens, Blenheim Palace & colonial Williamsburg.]



And, by the way, a 75-year old heat record was broken in Athens, GA yesterday when the thermometer topped 102-degrees [F]/ 38.888 Celsius. That combined with the high humidity-- can anyone blame me for rejecting yard work in toto?

Manijeh Arrives

The trip began at Tehran's new international airport, Imam Kohomeini, and the 1st leg ended at Charles de Gaulle, Paris. From there to Atlanta Hartsfield Jackson. The flight was booked through Air France, operated by Delta and total air hours, more than I can calculate. [It should be noted, I never did excel at math.]

Manijeh Kalantari is my Papa's Mama, my paternal grandmere. Here is her picture with the beautiful flowers that my maternal grandmere et grandpere sent Manijeh to welcome her to the USA.

Manijeh lives in Ahvaz, Iran as do Papa's brothers, sister, MamaJune, and his neices, nephews, cousins, uncles and aunts. In fact, my paternal family is quite large, a complete constrast to the petite family on Mama's side.

Manijeh likes me very much; she thinks I'm well-behaved and clever. I love Manijeh; when I'm with her I smile and wag. We are fortunate that Manijeh made the long trip to spend some time with us in Athens.

Dinner Date

JPEG and I share common concerns & interests: chilled drinks with tapas after a challenging day's work; a hand (or two) of bridge accompanied by sandwiches and coffee; Mah Jong, daiquiris & some delicious (catered) titbits. On this particular evening, we sparred over raw hide, shared my Christmas snowman toy, mixed it up over presidential politics, and generally enjoyed ourselves til the people involved (Amy, Peter, Mama et Papa) called it an evening much too early. [note my red crystal drinks glass]

For more on my friend JPEG, click the subject label below.

An Appeal

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop." ~Lewis Carrol, from Alice in Wonderland

How often has Mama said this to me! And how often I've wondered: why?

I appeal to you, my faithful friends & fans, for help as I reflect on this conundrum. Offer your insights by clicking the comments link below or email Mama at elle.roushanzamir@gmail.com (she is allowing me to share her inbox).

I love Lucy

These are Lucy.

Lucy, I love you.

You are smart & clever. I'm pretty sure you Boss your home and that you run a tight ship there.

Also, au naturel or chicly groomed, you're gorgeous.

PLUS!

Sparkling personality, sly sense of humor, cunning wit and underneath all that a true capacity for love & compassion, Lucy, these are among your qualities that today's entry celebrates. Lucy, I love you so much. Your pal, M²