Today I went to the market to purchase some ingredients to make a friend's Granola recipe. (By the way, this granola turned out fantastic!) Finding myself frustrated that the bank wasn't open on the way, I needed to get myself out of this frustration. Enter one of many florists at the market. The florists set up little stands where they proudly display a wide range of color, smiling at the sun. As I shop, the man hands me a pink rose, un cadeau. I fall in love with a bunch of yellow roses. Who doesn't deserve a bouquet of yellow roses the day before her birthday?
The man quickly begins preparing the roses. Cutting off the ends, finding accompaniment greenery, and arranging them all nice and pretty so all I have to do is put them in my vase. I marveled at the time and craftsmanship that went into a sale of $7.50, for 20 beautiful roses.
I remember a day when Tom and I walked down the street in the Maarif. A little boy, ice cream in hand, nearly ran into Tom. The boy stopped, looked up, and with a big smile exclaimed in Arabic. If I were to put words in his mouth, it would be, "WHOA, Mom! Look at that giant!" We laughed along with the boy's mother.
I finally asked Nabil, the tech guy who works at our school, why he eats the crust of his bread and leaves the center piled by the staff room sink. He informs me that Moroccans do this so they don't eat too much bread (they do enjoy their bread here), but that it is a bad thing to throw bread in the trash. If you must dispose of your bread, put it in a separate bag to be collected and fed to the animals. I like this way of respecting something others might seen as mundane. I now dispose of my stale, moldy bread like a Moroccan.
Tomorrow and extending toward next weekend I celebrate my 28th birthday with my friends. Dancing, cooking, and a Tapas party in the near future. Looking forward to it.
Enjoy your May.
Karissa
