Ramadan & Christmas in Morocco, Part 1 of 2

In December 2000 I discovered the other Casablanca--not the movie but rather a bustling, third-world city celebrating Ramadan. My visions of romance and an exotic land of cafes, gin joints, and beautiful people faded when I laid eyes on my now former boyfriend (hereafter referred to as FBF, not to be confused with BFF) at the Casablanca airport. Eight months had passed since he left to serve in the Peace Corps in West Africa. Over the next three weeks in Morocco, I would learn that personal hygiene is relative but when he greeted me I was unwitting to this fact. FBF smelled and looked like a man of the bush! “Couldn’t even shower and put on clean clothes to woo his woman”rumbled through my head.

Morocco is a popular travel destination for those who enjoy unique culture and adventurous conditions. December and January are the coldest and the rainiest months of the year. Most people would not choose to be in Morocco in December. And the maraschino cherry of it all? Twice every 30 years Ramadan coincides with Christmas and we were there for it! Ramadan, lasting 29-30 days, is the Muslim holy month. Ramadan traditions include the fasting of food, water, cigarettes, sex and other worldly pleasures from sunup to sunset each day. It is a time of sacrifice, prayer, and mindful reflection. 

It didn’t take long to figure out that Casablanca was not a Hollywood stage. All delusions of romantic trysts dimmed when FBF took me to our boarding room. I stared in disbelief: one single bed, a sink, and concrete floors. “Where’s the bathroom?” seemed a logical question and the answer prepared me for my Moroccan experience. He led me down the chilly hall, pointed out a group shower, adding that the hotel does not provide hot water. Then I saw the bathroom stall. A filthy ceramic hole and a faucet with a small bucket of water greeted me with a sneer. No toilet paper in Morocco--it is customary to wipe with the left hand and eat with the right. The bucket was there to rinse hands and catch the water from the spigot above. 

Choosing not to cold shower it, we took to the streets of Casablanca. Everywhere I turned men butchered live animals (chickens, fish, goats, and an occasional cow) to offer for sale. Despite the seemingly filthy conditions, I couldn’t help but guess that the process was less germ-ridden than U.S. meat factories. When a man purchased a slaughtered and plucked chicken, probably still warm with afterlife, and carried it barehanded down a narrow street I had one of many lessons that industrialized does not always equal better. Back in Missouri, I could only dream of meat that fresh.

Men worked and socialized in the streets during the day while the women, at home, prepared an elaborate meal for that evening’s break fast. It took me awhile to realize that they weren’t talking about breakfast. The mosques across Morocco play their haunting and beautiful sound (listen here http://www.flickr.com/photos/alaskapine/2402178742/) at about 5:30 each morning and evening, alerting all that the day’s fast either had started or ended.

With few restaurants open due to the holiday, my first dinner purchase included bottled water, dry crackers, a banana, along with multiple packages of kleenex for bathroom use. In less than 24 hours, any thoughts of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman’s affair had dimmed yet I couldn’t help but look to the future. With our long bodies squeezed in a single bed I whispered in FBF’s ear: “We’ll Always Have Paris.”

Some highlights of our time in Casablanca include:

The Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, is one of the two mosques in the world that allows non-Muslim visitors. It opened in 1993. The tour was a very aesthetic and spiritual experience and I felt privileged to be there especially during Ramadan. The mosque was designed under the watchful eye of King Hassan II who said, "I want to build this mosque on the water, because God's throne is on the water. Therefore, the faithful who go there to pray, to praise the Creator on firm soil, can contemplate God's sky and ocean."

I Spy a Tall Blonde (FBF)
It was hard to lose each other.

We encountered an unexpected mid-day gathering in the streets surrounding a local mosque. King Hassan II and his entourage drove to the town square procession-style and shared in a noon prayer with his people. The next morning with the rain cleared, we enjoyed the first glimpse of sunshine in days. I found myself relaxed in a Moroccan sort of way as we wound our way through some Casablanca souks and plotted our Christmas excursion over hot tea and crackers. 

Stay tuned for Part 2: Camping, Camels, and Survival in the Sahara Desert on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in Marrekash.

The link to Part 2: http://annie-allthingsimportant.blogspot.com/2011/12/ramadan-christmas-in-morocco-part-2-of.html

"To Trim or Not to Trim"

"To Be or Not to Be," declared Hamlet.

“To Tree or Not to Tree,” I responded. It was the wee, pre-coffee hours of Sunday morning.

Before my mind could turn from treeing to being, I hauled it to the basement for three large boxes containing tree, ornaments, and too much junk. Deep down, I dreaded this deed and chose a systematic and thoughtful method to the task. The ornament boxes would wait while I assembled the tree. It took a hammer and some muscle to bend the pieces to balance the tripod on which this tree stands. The only alternative would have been roping it to wall or furniture. The harder the task, the more determined my effort.

Sounds of Christmas music, with the snap, crackle, and pop of old family vinyl led me to a place of nostalgia and mindfulness. I found myself in a sing-a-long with Glen Campbell, Emmylou Harris, Elvis, and others. It buffered my relationship with the present for a short while. While advisable to always live in the present--out in the real world where all is new each day--a temporary escape strengthens my “now.” 

With the tree up and shaped, I delved into the ornament box with a growing enthusiasm. The Christmas Ball wiggled, knowing it always goes first. The only ornament with a permanent nail is a work of art created by my sister Mary. Notice the perfect needlepoint in the picture to the right. 

“To Keep or Not to Keep,” rattled my skull.

Four piles formed: ornaments from my youth; from college to present; basic colored balls to reflect the lights; and trash. Memories flooded and Ray Conniff’s take on “White Christmas” helped this be an easy and rewarding system. Every ornament on the tree tells a story: a glittery, octagon-shaped ball made from Christmas cards by my great-great aunt; childhood art projects though the generations; gifts from dear friends; reminders of vacations, loves had and lost, colleges and places I adore. “I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/Just like the ones I used to know/Where the treetops glisten and children listen/To hear sleigh bells in the snow/I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/With every Christmas card I write/May your days be merry and bright/And may all your Christmases be white” sounded inspired. 

The antique round table that relocated for the holiday season folded down in size and shape to provide an extension to my tree that honors my little brother. Jim was a “Trekkie,” a proud and loyal Star Trek fan. Collectors leave Star Trek toys and items untouched in the original packaging. As a teenager Jim’s wall was covered with Star Trek spaceships, figures, and toys safe behind a plastic window and surrounded by a cardboard background. A punch hole in the cardboard allowed a pin to provide the necessary support to display.

“To Remove or Not Remove,” I questioned the boxed ornament.

With a wink to Jim’s spirit, I pulled out the ornament and set it next to its original box. After all these years, Commander Data deserved to come out of the box, I said. And I heard Jim’s response: a manly giggle. The lights ran out before reaching the top. Rather than run to Mom’s for another strand, I topped the tree with a white angel given to me by a friend years ago. The angel's been there before but this year it also reminded me of Jim. My friend loved him, laughed (and laughed and laughed) with him. Warm thoughts of an old friend and Jim’s bright smile illuminate things up there.

Christmas 2011

Brandi Carlile @ the Blue Note, Columbia, Mo.

Brandi Carlile at the Blue Note

Brandi Carlile’s spectacular voice, wicked guitar playing, and intimate stage presence on Saturday evening shattered my already high expectation for a smokin' hot performance. 

Following the opening act (Katie Herzig), the tall beauty appeared on the Blue Note stage with at least five guitars within her reach at all times. Brandi engaged the sold-out audience with the warmth of an old friend, reminding the full house that a concert is an experience that requires mutual participation. Opening with “Dreams” off her 2010 album Give Up the Ghost, followed by two additional original numbers, she stunned by stepping to the front of the stage to offer an unplugged version of one of her most beautiful songs. Forgoing microphone or amplification, she delivered a powerful version of “What Can I Say.” With this, Brandi had the crowd in the palm of her hand for the entire evening.

Throughout the show, Brandi weaved together strong material from all three of her studio albums, a few new/unreleased songs, and a handful of cover tunes. A string of storytelling tied each song to the next and built a rapport between artist and audience unmatched by most performers. She told of her lifelong dream of performing at the Grand Ole Opry and the thrill of meeting one of her musical idols, Wanda Jackson there. Before she covered Radiohead’s “Creep” we learned that it was her Mom who suggested she buy the band’s CD. When she shared a new song (“Christmas 1984”), the first time she performed it live, Brandi explained that not all Christmas songs need be joyous. Her message of avoiding the materialism that overtakes the holiday season was exquisitely delivered through the song. 

Brandi belted out her anthem “The Story” as the final song of the set. Hearing her words: All of these lines across my face/Tell you the story of who I am/So many stories of where I've been/And how I got to where I am/But these stories don't mean anything/When you've got no one to tell them to/It's true...I was made for you/, it felt as if she had shared the Story of Brandi Carlile with her new friends in mid-Missouri. The authentic singer/songwriter returned the affection, expressing gratitude and awe for her Columbia audience numerous times. She promised that she would return to the Blue Note to see “one of, if not the best audience” of her tour.

The encore offered a short mini-set, opening with two original ballads. She followed by plucking a lucky young man from the audience who joined her on stage to duet John Prine’s “Angel from Montgomery” with her. The night ended with a rousing rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” an oft-covered song seldom performed by female singers. She nailed it. Of course.

Brandi Carlile in Parking Lot Following Concert at Blue Note 

Brandi Carlile sings "The Story" with her band at Austin City Limits, September 2011. Her performance at the Blue Note was a part of her first solo tour.

James Lewis "Jim" Rogers, b. Nov 18, 1976

Jim’s 16th Birthday. No one could of predicted that Jim would become the best driver in the family. Prior to his sixteenth birthday, he had finished off a couple of cars “practice driving” off road. His most dramatic incident involved racing through the pasture in an old Blazer. A low lying tree ripped the roof off making a convertible of this Blazer. With Jim unharmed, the story was added to family lore with a laugh and head shake, and  “oh, only Jimby ... ” crossing all of our minds.

Thirty-five years ago today my family welcomed James Lewis “Jim” Rogers to the world. This was not Mom’s first time around the birthing track--her seventh to be specific--and she walked out of the hospital with her baby cradled in her arms the very next day. Two years earlier, Mom almost died in childbirth and her twin babies went to heaven. On November 18, 1976, God blessed her with a picture perfect delivery and baby boy. She knew her family was complete.

The youngest in a large family is a unique place to live; I know nothing about it and never will. I watched my brother John as the baby for years before Jim arrived. Then, of course, Jim was the baby. I always envied that spot on the ladder though John passed the torch to Jim without thought. 

November 18 will always be Jim’s birthday, always a day to celebrate his life and love. He now has two birthdays: the day he went to Heaven and the day he was born on Earth. 

Jim’s 21st Birthday. No one anticipated their 21st birthday more than Jim. It wasn’t about a bar or a drink but rather our parents' tradition of taking each 21-year-old to Las Vegas. Jim invited me to be his guest on the trip with Mom and Dad. Caesar’s Palace provided our playground for a weekend of debauchery in Jim’s honor. This trip also became part of the family story but the two of us kept certain details of that chapter to ourselves. We owned it and still do.

Genie Banks Rogers

Mom pictured with her older brother
Hartley. Being 13 years older
he tormented my Mom by
taking her dolls and other
antics. As a young man, many
thought he looked like Elvis.

As a Toddler on the Steps of the Family Home

Deep down, Mom will always be a cat person though the dogs in her life have lacked for nothing, especially affection. She is a friend and advocate to each animal she encounters: I'm confident the geese, woodchucks, deer, raccoons, squirrels, and others flock to her place for good reason. 

Mom with Her first Cat (above) and Her Pony

A True 40-Year Love Story: Until Death Do Us Part

President Reagan Visits Columbia

My Dad won Mom's heartstrings when he invited her to see Barry Goldwater for a first date. Other romantic outings included drinks at the Heidelberg, Mizzou football games, and family time. Proof positive, these passions continued through the decades. President Reagan's visit to Columbia in the late 1980s thrilled--look at my mother in this picture. That's anticipation! Loyal Mizzou football fans, they endured the good, the bad, and the ugly from the mid-1960s through 2005.

Fall 2004, Night Game at Faurot Field

Below are the final lines of a manuscript prepared by my siblings in honor of my parent's 40th wedding anniversary, the last they would celebrate together. These words, as appropriate and meaningful today, I share with love and respect.

"Mom and Dad have often said that one of their greatest accomplishments was raising five kids who are each other’s best friends. Mom and Dad can also take pride that all of their children consider Mom and Dad their best friends too. We congratulate you on your 40 years of marriage. You have taught us each what love and family are all about. We thank you for each other, us, and many wonderful memories and experiences."

We love you very much,
Mary, Ann, Hartley, John, and Jim

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 2011

My Take on the "Happy Lamp"

It always sounded too good to be true.

It may be.

It’s large, it’s bright, it can attract attention in the office. People often question me about it, usually on behalf of a spouse, a friend, a parent. Can’t help but think-- “but of course, only others struggle with seasonal depression.”

When asked if the Happy Lamp helps, if it really boosts my mood and emotions when the days grow dark and gloomy, I always respond with this answer:

“I truly think it helps and frankly that is good enough for me.”

I am a Tree Hugger

Oak Tree

On the first day of spring 2011, I transplanted three trees from my brother Jim’s yard. Eight months later and in the heart of fall, the trees are thriving and I believe he is smiling down on them.

(Look here at pictures of the trees when I planted them in March:http://annie-allthingsimportant.blogspot.com/2011/04/trees-and-prayers-for-life.html )

Yesterday I built a mulch bed around each tree to blanket them for the extra cold winter predicted for this year. I started to weep. It’s impossible to convey all the emotion tossing in my skull but it can be summed up in a simple way: I miss him.

Still crying and on impulse rather than thought, I hugged the little tree. I then climbed to the top of the yard and gave Jim’s oak tree and crabapple tree a hug also. Sitting in the bright, blinding sunshine under the little oak tree my weeps turned to sobs, dampening the ground with my tears.

Before going inside, I gave each tree another hug and in process created an alternate yet more literal definition of the term “tree hugger.”

Crabapple Tree (left) and Magnolia Tree (right)