the sophisticated effect of my black coat is somewhat undercut by winter boots that look like two furry animals eating my feet

so much for looking like an adult for our mortgage representative...

"Theorists of nationalism have often been perplexed, not to say irritated, by these three paradoxes: (1) The objective modernity of nations to the historian's eye vs. their subjective antiquity in the eyes of nationalists. (2) The formal universality of nationality as a sociocultural concept ... vs. the irremediable particularity of its concrete manifestations, such that, by definition, 'Greek' nationality is sui generis. (3) The 'political' power of nationalisms vs. their philosophical poverty and even incoherence."

-- from the Introduction to Benedict Anderson's Imagined Communities

everyone i saw in transit appears to be in shock. cold winters are the norm here, of course, but winters this cold in toronto, with temperatures approaching those of winnipeg--and for such an extended period of time--are simply disheartening. following the power outages and ice storms of late december, -35C seems like the final nail on the coffin.

i think we all feel now the way we normally do mid-february: exhausted.

Jewish Christmas during a power outage

I should be clear: We did not lose power during the freak ice storm of yesterweek... but the rest of my family did, along with a very large and unfortunate number of others. Luckily and unluckily, you were on the other side of the world during the commotion and the festivities of the days and nights that followed. I wish you could have experienced our first truly full house since the move--the unofficial housewarming for my family--but I'm glad you were oblivious to my clumsy, haphazard blundering about with lunches, dinners, teas, and sleeping arrangements. It may have been the end of our 'marriage.'

Christmas Chair

Jewish Christmas actually began on Dec 22 with a call from my parents and a near-simultaneous text from my sister/brother-in-law: Have we heard and are we powered? (We had not, of course, because we were.) Reading about the extent of the damage (250,000+ in the dark and--worse--in the terrible cold) made the three of us increasingly nervous about what suddenly appeared to be a precarious situation at best: Should we eat all our food immediately? Should we take advantage of the hot water, while we still have it? Should we stock up on groceries? Should we start emailing the neighbours?

Beata and Will came by that afternoon to keep warm and to deliberate: To move or not to move the kitties? Temperatures were plunging and we decided that, despite the added stress, a move was for the best. Kitties were taken--with belongings that outnumbered those of their owners'--and established on the top floor, secured against the primary occupant of our bedroom: Dooneh.

My parents decided to brave it out at home that night (hoping, I assume, that the power would return shortly). As it did not, they came over the next day to defrost and to describe the apocalypse in their front yard: broken tree branches, downed wires, ice, snow, and general frozen misery. It was a warm and lovely afternoon filled with stories, noise, my mother's iPad (which is a presence all on its own), and laughter.

You were sorely missed and your phone call arrived just in time for my mom to make her special 'what's wrong with your voice when you talk to her' face.

My uncle's power returned that evening and my parents left to spend the night at his place while Dooneh continued to fume about the situation upstairs. We slept in auntie Maryam's room for the second night; I tried hard to keep my other half in place and not hissing at the master bedroom door.

The morning of the 24th we decided to play Jewish Christmas by ear. The tradition of opening gifts at my parents' home, followed by a sushi lunch, followed by an afternoon movie, was somewhat out of the question since Richmond Hill was still in the dark and--quite frankly--everyone was exhausted. Beata and Will debated: To go or not to go to Stouffville the next day for dinner with Will's parents? I believe the decision was no until the first Christmas miracle occurred: Beata's neighbour texted with news of light.

We took them home that evening and welcomed my parents back when it was unofficially decided that the 25th would be spent at our place. Dooneh cautiously approached the bedroom, which was temporarily free of intruders, but remained resigned to the fact that the third floor was still off-limits. We spent the night in our frozen living room--frozen due to inadequate insulation, or a heat imbalance, or both--near the fireplace, comfortably and happily cocooned in wool and fleece.

A handful of other Christmas miracles made this a particularly eventful year. It snowed beautifully and sunnily that morning. We found an open sushi restaurant (no small feat downtown on Christmas day, as I now know) that delivered to our door. Parvaneh, who hates sushi, actually had something to eat, because we ate at home. I finally got my period, which was either very late or very early, and successfully pushed the cramps forward into the following day. We did not run out of tea or bread.

A lively couple of days drew to a close as my parents' power returned that evening and the temperature inside their home rose from 6C to .. I will say .. the usual 15C.

"my name is for my friends"

peter o'toole is best known for lawrence--my favourite among favourites; memorized nearly word for word... the movie, in fact, where you first met my parents

but recently, when i think of him, it's among the monster cast of the lion in winter--where this thin, elegant man became a roaring henry II

the screen has not been the same without him...it will never be the same

the only thing that sustains me in the months of -15C to -30C ahead is the thought of slipping into a scalding hot bath and staying there until the trauma of the outdoors is soaked into my water-wrinkled fingertips

and some day in the mist of time
when they ask you if you knew me
remember that you were a friend of mine

RIP Mr Mandela
a true loss..

i have not written--written seriously, with feeling--in quite some time. my mind is blank; i can't read; i don't think; i'm preoccupied with trivialities...worries...desires

i envy those, like you, who are beautiful and creative always..who don't forget themselves in the silence

Mads Mikkelsen becomes both uglier and more beautiful the longer you look at him...

i don't have the strength to worry about you... and that frightens me

f's dialogue of the month

me: ouchhh..
f: where does it hurt?
me: here..
f:: so, stomach
me: not stomach.. lower
f: you know your stomach is not an atom, or a molecule.. it's an organ, it takes some space

what to say

i don't care if mayor Ford is a closet cocaine addict (as long as he does his job effectively)... my only concern is that he lied--repeatedly and shamefully--with that stupid bombast and attitude of his

عشق من٬

i'm so, so proud of you

מזל טוב

if it weren't for the fact that you're coming home tonight, doon doon and i would spend the night on this couch...because waking her is obviously out of the question

there's little that can be said about the range of emotions i feel when reading about some past or recent atrocity in Palestine-Israel.

there is always shame. the knowledge, as a Jew, that centuries of persecution have resulted not in understanding but in violent, reflexive counter-attack is too terrible to comprehend. i've written about this incessantly and i cannot...i cannot come to grips with it; that the blood of my relatives, senselessly and unimaginably spilled, has been replaced by something worse

at the same time, there is the pain of knowing the depth of the terror that drives people to desperation..to this utter loss of humanity

this is all a weight...a pull on my heart. i can imagine that for Ari Shavit of the New Yorker, writing "Lydda, 1948" not just as a Jew, but as an Israeli--an Israeli, moreover, who keeps this tragedy at the forefront--the weight is infinitely greater...

one thing is clear: i can't, of my own accord, listen to music anymore. i lack the mental space... i lack the energy. every so often i look through my collection,  but all i feel is the sting of avoidance...

... possibly the worst disaster of a کوکو سبزی ever
i don't even know how we'll eat it

f's phrase of the illness:

- i: "my mom called; she's very worried about you"
- f: "why, what's wrong with me?"

schmuckism

apparently my mouth starts moving as soon as i wake up--and nothing good ever comes out of it

i'm so sorry..i can't undo my stupidity