Tricks

Story of my life.

Palm Sunday

Against Idleness is pleased to announced that they are not outside scrubbing and staining a deck today, like they are supposed to be. Instead, they are seriously thinking about dying some Easter eggs.

Happy Holy Week!

Le Maroc

This morning, I am supposed to be assembling a poster about Morocco for my very silly community college French class, where we play little games and sing nursery rhymes and use flashcards and if we are very lucky, might be awarded a Tolberone at the end of the week. Despite having devised a very charming theme for my poster that fills both the assignment criteria and the limitations of a black-and-white printer (Bienvenue au Maroc! Des Cartes Postales du Mahgreb), I am distracted. Quelle suprise.

I'm still thinking about snow, and Fake Christmas, and how last year we all went to that Moroccan place in Silver Spring to see Peter off, and how of course everything was delicious, but that wasn't even the point anymore. The point was that halfway through our final Fake Christmas dinner, the lights were dimmed, and a disco ball spun, and a crackly, boot-legged Moroccan-pop version of what we could only assume to be "Happy Birthday" began to play. The point was that it was for us. It was for Peter. The point was that it wasn't his birthday.

It was pure Fake Christmas magic. Though at first we were all convinced somebody must have told our waiter (bearing free dessert) that it was my dear cousin's birthday, it soon became clear that nobody had said a word, and everyone was just as baffled as the next, but the disco ball was spinning and the song was playing, and there was this charming Moroccan man standing next to the table holding pastry with a candle in it-- who were we to deny him? We all split the generous, honeyed, baklava-y thing and called it a Fake Christmas miracle. That's the only kind I believe in, you know.

Maybe that's why, a week or so ago in my very silly French class, when we were asked to choose African countries to make posters about, I immediately selected "le Maroc". Aside from excellent poster design prospects, what with all that lovely tile, I just happen to like the place. Well, as much as I can. I have never been to Morocco, per se, but it could happen someday. I've got an unshakable faith in the Fake Christmas miracle.

Seasonal Produce

"'You've heard of the fury of a woman scorned, haven't you?'

'Yeah, I guess I have.'

'Well, that's nothing compared to the fury of a woman who has been cheated out of trick-or-treats. "

-from It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, 1966

Oh boy. Halloween is coming. Folks are hollowing out their turnips as we speak. There is going to be a parade. A carnival. A thousand people are going to come, dripping caramel. The wind is whisking the leaves in little spirals in anticipation. As for me, I am going to hide until the revelers have come and gone, the shrieks quiet, and the neighborhood wakes to find pumpkin guts strewn up and down the streets.