Double Dog Darling

Here, a photograph of some of my favorite people: Sophie & Pam Kohn, grandmere Manijeh Kalantari, and my own Papa, Saeid Roushanzamir. Missing from this photo are my many Iranian relatives and (few) American relatives, Lily Kohn, and obviously my Maman who took the picture. I, of course, am at the Center.

People are frail and flawed creatures. Tender of heart, strict of practice (exercise, discipline, affection). And through it all, sanguine creatures who view optimisim as a virtue.

Perhaps because of these characteristics, Maman has created a new "pet name" for me: double dog darling.

It references a 1950s childhood practice: the double dog dare. The double dog dare is issued in an attempt to up the ante; it's not as commanding as the triple dog dare which (perhaps) exceeds the limits of polite behaviour.

In any case, calling me the double dog darling is Maman's meek attempt at humor. Yes, I'm a darling. Yes, I'm double the darlingness of most doggies. So I accept the nick-name even as I mock its origin. After all, does a dog with the name of Mercury Murphy Roushanzamir really need a pet name?

BTW, apologies to those of you await my entries eagerly and with baited breath. Writers block has held me within its viscious grip. But my thoughts are always with you (each & every one of you) as are my hopes that you're celebrating life and loving it.

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

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.

VIPs: Close to Home

The "close to home" of today's title is less than exact. In the spirit of my previous entry, here I pay tribute to the VIPs in my home: Mama et Papa.

All too often I have exposed their shortcomings [plentiful perhaps], and yet that's a defect that all creatures share.

Yes, my loft space is tiny & only sparingly furnished. [for a size comparision between my loft & the Roushanzamir house, see entry July 28, 2006] True, I'm served 2 meals per day [they eat--at least--three]. My collar is not gem-studded, nor is my name tag either gold or platinum.

However:

It is they who saved me from the hard work & deprivation of life on an Idaho farm towards which I seemed to be headed. [I'd almost rather be beheaded]

As the picture above amply illustrates [shot 1 month after I arrived in the Roushanzamir family], Mama comforted me in my infancy when I felt frightened & alone. [One not apocryphal story: In my initial terror, I feared to leave Mama's arms and thus she lost 10 lbs. during my first 3 days in my new home unable as she was to prepare or eat food.] Papa too was, from the very first, a commited [if permissive] caregiver.

Papa spoils me rotten. I adore him & he's simply wonderful. The nicest guy in town. He encourages treats before breakfast. Allows me to chew on his sock & shoes. Lets me drag him along on walks. I stay up as late as I want & he walks me as early as I choose to awaken each day. In short he give me free reign & indulges me in the most endearing way.

Scattered throughout my blog are numerous photos of Papa [only 1 or 2 of the stricter Mama]. [for example, see July 4 & 30, 2006, August 1, 2006, January 18, 2007; for Papa & Grandmere Manijeh see July 8, 2006; also search for Papa shown sneaking me treats; for Papa with Mama, see July 9, 2006] So for this entry, I've selected a picture of Papa visiting Trinity College, Oxford. [his company, questionable]

And finally, although not the slickest or most current of photos, here I share for the first time one my personal favorites.