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The Whole Basket

I have been reading a book— Braiding Sweetgrass —loaned to me by a dear friend who said that she thought I would appreciate it. She was right. It contains some of the most beautiful and poetic non-fiction writing I have read in a long time. Each chapter is like a lovely gift to unwrap. In a recent chapter, I was struck by the description of weaving a basket because it reminded me of work that I have been involved with for the past three years with a non-profit organization in Morocco. As I read about the process and the lessons learned from the process of basket weaving, I thought of the Moroccan farmers, the land, the planting of fruit trees, and the sustainable economic development of communities. The author describes the challenges of starting a basket: “The first two rows of the basket are the hardest. On the first go-round, the splint seems to have a will of its own and wants to wander from the over-under rhythm around the circle. It resists the pattern and looks all loose a
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I Think I Have ADHD

Friday morning:  I'll just have my coffee and then get started on my work. Well, I might as well check the news while drinking my coffee. Oh, here's an article my mom would like; I'll text it to her. <texts with mom for a while about the weather in her state and mine> Let me make myself a hearty breakfast so I can work through lunch. I might as well watch last night's Jeopardy while eating my breakfast. Oh, I'd better clean up these dishes before going up to get dressed. <washes dishes, wipes down sink, counters, stove, and range hood - accidentally knocks the range hood air filter off and breaks it - gets tape to fix it - puts back all supplies> Let me make the bed while I'm up here getting dressed. Oh, I forgot that I have all this jewelry from my summer outfits to put away. <sorts necklaces, earrings, and bracelets into compartments in jewelry storage containers - places them back in closet> Huh, I should take out these fall shoes and bring
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Bullfight

Below the hotel window are the sounds of families going to watch the Semana Santa processions. Lured by children's laughter and women's voices, footsteps on cobblestones echoing up from Calle del Infante, we venture out on our first evening in Madrid and follow the crowd to Plaza Mayor. We watch the costaleros bearing aloft their saints, candles, flowers, and carved Cristos on their slow pilgrimage across the old town. Men in green nazareno robes of penitence, eerily pointed hoods and covered faces in mourning for their sins of the last year, pass by in all solemnity. Spain is revealing herself to us with each new street corner we turn. Dining  al fresco  on the edge of the plaza brings the popular delights of bocadillos de calamares , music, and general goodwill as we take in the sights and sounds of this golden hour. With our remembered high school Spanish and their bits of English, somehow we get by and understand one another. After dinner, we stroll along the main boulev
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Saving Daylight

Daylight Savings Time just began in Morocco. It goes from March 27 through May 8. We start by setting the hour back and then ahead at the end, the opposite of the U.S. strategy. At first, I was confused, but then I realized that it covers the period of Ramadan, which will begin around April 2 and last until May 2 this year, depending on whether the moon cycle predictions are correct. This brings the day to a close a little earlier so that people don't have to wait until 8 or 9pm to break their fast with their Iftar meal. That makes perfect sense to me now that I put two plus two together. My neighborhood is a collection of people and vehicles and street scenes. I begin the day with a cup of coffee on my terrace and watch the scenes unfold. From my perch, I see the signs for the local school and for the Royal Opera. The first people out are cleaning the sidewalks in front of their businesses. The street sweepers come along, and so do the farmers with their horse-drawn carts going to
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Comfort

My landlord is French. I do not speak French, and he has very little English or even Arabic, but we somehow get by. I did not take French in school. Yet, I recently had a meal at the neighborhood seafood place, El Snack Bahriya, in which I ordered in French and conversed in French with the waiter. I don't understand how that is possible, but there is no denying that it happened. I am in a one-bedroom apartment with a lovely sitting area and small kitchen on Avenue Hassan II in Marrakech. I can sit on the terrace if I like and watch the little yellow taxis, the tiny European cars, the Mercedes SUVs, the motorbikes, and the bicyclists go by, as well as the occasional horse-drawn carriage with tourists out for a ride. I am not a tourist. There is Farouk café next door and Clay Oven, an Indian restaurant, across the street, teasing me with its enticing scents and higher prices, but I can still get a full dinner there for under $20. A small pizza at the café, though, is only $2.50, and
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Geek Squad

I am borrowing my daughter's Chromebook for my work in Africa for the next several months. She bought it just a little more than three months ago. It was functioning fine... and then it wasn't. I woke up after charging it overnight to find that it would not power on. Last night (Saturday), I took it to Best Buy from whom she purchased it as well as purchasing a 3-year warranty. After I explained what happened to it to the clerk at the Geek Squad, and showed him the receipt, he declared, "No problem. We will send it out for repair at no charge." "Can I get it back within two weeks, though? I am leaving for three months' work in Africa on February 19, and I need it by then." "We cannot expedite shipping." "You can't? Or you won't? See, I think you can expedite shipping, and you should in this instance, because we bought an apparently defective computer and a warranty, and we deserve for you to make this happen." "I can'
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First Snow of the Year

It snowed today. Beautiful. Serene. Quiet and white and delicate. I watched from a warm interior, and I worked a little, cooked a little, walked in it at sunset to buy bread from the local store for tonight's dinner of vegetable soup. I was quite happy, quite contented. I told a friend what I was up to, and he, living as he does in Morocco, remarked that he missed the rain and the snow. I considered this and reflected that I take for granted the regularity of rain and snow in my part of the world. I had the luxury of enjoying the beauty of it without having to think about what it means to live in a place of drought.  An article I recently co-authored was published last week. It is about renewable energy in Morocco and projects that help mitigate the effects of climate change: soil erosion, carbon emissions, water resource management. It is one thing to write about it, to apply for grants for projects to help those who are not as lucky as I am, but quite another to live without reli
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