Don't you see? Your hand maybe stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be. The gift does not lie in your hands! I have hands, David. Hands that can make a scalpel sing. More than anything in my life, I wanted to play. But I do not have the gift. I can play the notes; but I can not make the music. You've performed Liszt; Rachmaninoff; Chopin. Even if you never do so again, you already know the joy that I will never know for as long as I live. Because the true gift is in your head. And in your heart. And in your soul. Now, you can shut it off forever; or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world; through the baton; the classroom; the pen. As for these works, they're for you. Because you, and the piano will always be as one.
What the human body and mind can do in the face of adversity is phenomenal. The inspiration behind this lengthy quotation, from the19th episode of Season 8 of M*A*S*H titled "Morale Victory", is an Austrian Pianist by the name of Paul Wittgenstien, whose right hand had to be amputated during WW1.
He begun a long search to commission piano work composed for the left hand alone. Composer after composer turned him down, until he found French Composer Maurice Ravel. And this is the piece he composed for Wittgenstein : Piano Concerto for the left hand in D Major.
What the human body and mind can do, especially in the face of adversity is incredible. If you have been blessed with a talent; make use of it, and share it with the world. If you lose the idyllic way to bring to life the gifts within you, find alternatives.
Because there are always alternatives!
I listen to a lot of music. So much so, I'm quite convinced that my poor memory can be attributed wholly to the fact that my brain is filled with song lyrics.
There are so many that are so creative, so breathtaking, that I would get goosebumps. How do people compose so elegantly?
Paul Simon sings a song about a 16 year old Puerto Rican gang member named Salvador Agron. Convicted of the murder of two 16 year old gang members, Salvador became the youngest person ever to be sentenced to death in New York. Due to good behaviour, his sentence was commuted to life, and he was released after 17 years.
The music has heavy Spanish vibes, and a beautiful guitar passage in the middle. Quite contrary to the violent nature of the story, the song "Trailways Bus"is a gentle song, invoking feelings of compassion for a boy who hailed from an unstable home, and fell in with the wrong crowd.
In 1979, the disco sensation BoneyM released a ballad about Eleutario Sanchez Rodriguez, a legendary Spanish outlaw. Convicted and sentenced to 30 years in prison at the young age of 23 for a "crime he didn't commit", El Lute was, at the time, Spain's most wanted criminal. He escaped from prison many times, and he became a symbol of the resistance to the oppression of the poor under Spanish Dicator Franco.
During his incarceration, he learned to read and write, and earned a degree in Law. He also became a published writer. After continuously arguing his innocence, he was pardoned and released at the age of 39.
Kate Barker and Grigori Rasputin were also immortalized by BoneyM in a similar vein.
Then there's this, by Alannah Myles. The legend that inspired this one really needs no introduction, does he? :-)
Soon after returning from a 2 week trip to Kenya in 2006, a dear friend of mine said "They say that once you travel to Africa, you leave a piece of your heart behind. Is that true?"
It's so true.
My earliest memories are of Nigeria. My father was stationed at a maternity hospital in Katsina, which was part of the (then) Kaduna State in Nigeria way back in the early 1980s. But then in the fall of 1983, we returned to the Emerald Isle.
But I have retained certain African influences from my time there;
I have always liked Cottage loaves. Nigerians eat their bread sweetened. Thus the bakeries made sweet bread. So the Sri Lankan and Indian communities got together and asked a bakery to please make unsweetened bread for us. But I do recall how my mother used to offer a few lumps of sugar along with the bread that she gave to the poor people who came begging for food.
Sugar cubes is another. I love sugar cubes. It's got something that a heaped teaspoon of grains just can't match.
Long bananas. Perhaps they didn't have the rich variety of bananas that we have in Sri Lanka...but all I recall are long bananas. And they remain my favourite.
Not that Boiled corn on the cob with butter is an alien concept to Sri Lanka, but I learnt to love it thanks to Africa.
But here are the most significant ones.
The people. I love African people. They have the most amazing voices, and the most gorgeous accent! I love the way they talk...and perhaps due to how late the British people left them, they speak flawless english.
They love Sri Lankans.....which works really well for me.
Their clothes. Their clothes are loud and bright, and boy can they pull off ANYthing! As a whole, we have lighter skin...but we often think that unless you're very fair, you simply can't pull off colours like red, yellow and orange.
But in Africa, they wear the brightest colours, not only in clothes, but also in make up and accessories. And they never look gaudy. They are magnificent.
While in Kenya, I tried out a beautiful pink outfit. The mirror did all but faint. I looked like an puffed up flamingo with black hair. So much for my fair skin huh?
Much of their jewellery is made of beads, big and small. Ok, now that I could carry off. But I still ended up buying safe, conservative colours and motifs.
The wildlife bears a special significance. The great African Elephant never fails to impress me. You see one in the wild, and you're truly in the presence of greatness. Having had a personal encounter with a wild hippopotamus in the wee hours of the morning in the Masai Mara, I then developed a fascination for these foul tempered behemoths. I could feel it's size and power right down to my very core, terrifying me so much that, for what felt like an eternity, I couldn't even move.
They have some outlandish game that come to your dinner plate as well. During my visit to Kenya, I sampled crocodile meat, camel meat and ostrich meat. There's a restaurant in Nairobi called The Carnivore which apparently served even more unusual meats (I seem to recall Lion meat, but can't find reference to back that up right now). Due to recent Government regulations however, they have had to reduce the variety on their wild game menu. This is a good thing, of course.
And then there's their music. Those drums, those voices, those chants! Let's leave aside the fact that most of the popular music we know today, jazz, rhythm & blues, gospel, rock & roll, they all have their roots in Africa. But what of the stuff that is still belted out of the continent?
You think you don't listen to African music? Check this out ->
Lebo M. comes from Soweto, in South Africa. He is a composer, songwriter and singer. He has composed most of the songs and music you hear in the Lion King, both on screen and on stage.
This song is composed, written and sung by an Irishman. However, the influence is entirely African. Listen carefully, you will notice that there are only drums and human vocals. Fantastic stuff.
And finally, the lady who put African music on the map. Miriam Makeba. Mama Africa. This is a clip from Paul Simon's Graceland tour, when he performed in Zimbabwe. He is, no doubt, the one with the higher number of chart toppers and record sales. But, he's the one who's lucky to be standing on the same stage with her. ->
Swahili is a gorgeous language. Spoken predominantly in Kenya and Tanzania, this is a song often played on our own airwaves. It is possibly the single most popular song to have come out of Africa, and reached every corner of the planet ->
I want to go back. I need to go back. Africa holds fascination like absolutely no other group of countries can. In spite of all it's manmade flaws, it remains the most well endowed continent in the world. It is rich in oil, gold, diamonds, copper, wildlife, history, culure, arts and crafts.
But Africa is expensive for the traveller. So, for now, I travel through my obsession with African music.
Many have (probably) begun a proclomation with these five words at one point or the other. In his address to the US Congress, which was broadcast over the "Voice of America" during the Second World War, Sir Winston Churchill said "It was his Majesty's fervent wish that I should seek the assistance of the United States to sweep the Nazi hordes from Europe. This I will strive to do with all my heart and soul. I will not rest until I achieve this great endeavour - a task I have already begun." American Politician Maria Cantwell promised "We will not rest until the wooden stake is punched through the heart of the Enron lawsuit against us". According to the famed Austrian neurologist Sigmund Freud, "The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until is has gained a hearing." Radiant beauty, talented acress and dedicated humanitarian Audrey Hepburn has been quoted as saying "I will not rest until no child goes hungry. All is possible." - a goal which she sadly couldn't reach in her lifetime. More recently, someone vehemently proclaimed "I will not rest until I get a pantry!!" **Author raises eyebrow in confusion** "I work for a multimillion dollar company," he continued. "I refuse to rinse my lunchbox in the washroom! I demand the dignity of a pantry; andI will not rest until I get one!!" Aren't quotations the most fabulous things?
The Honolulu International Center (known today as the Blaisdell Center) hosted a concert titled "Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite" on this day. Elvis Presley was at the prime of his musical career, having finally given up on his mediocre movie career which spanned close to a decade in the 1960s. While his 1968 Comback Special truly signalled that "Elvis is back", the "Aloha from Hawaii" concert is perhaps his most iconic live performance.
The pressure of capturing this live telecast had been so great, that a complete, untelevised rehearsal concert was held in front of a different audience on the 12th of January. The two shows were expected to raise USD 25,000 for the Kui Lee Cancer Fund. Tickets carried no face value. Instead, audience members were asked to pay whatever they could afford. The two audiences raised more than USD 75,000.
This haunting song, written and composed by Kuiokalani Lee, who died of lymph gland cancer at the age of 34 was performed at this show as a tribute to him;
This was the first television entertainment event by a single performer that was broadcast live, across the globe and at USD 2.5 million, it was the most expensive entertainment event held at the time.
The one hour show, which began at 12.30am on Sunday, 14th January 1973, was estimated to have been watched by 1 - 1.5 billion people worldwide, and was beamed live to more than 40 countries.
Charles Manabharana Herat Gunaratne.
From what I've been told by many in my family, he was a giant among men; and a giant in every way possible.
He stood 6feet 2inches tall. He was dark and handsome. He was thought of as being the brightest in his family of bright people, and he was also probably the kindest.
But what sticks the most with me are all the amusing anecdotes that I have been told of him.
He was a lover of dogs. His wife (and also, my grandmother) wasn't. She had put her foot down and said "Either children or dogs. Not both". He had gone off and got himself 2 Pekingese Dogs.
My grandparents were the wonderful parents of 5 amazing children. My grandfather supposedly bathed the 3 youngest children one after the other, and finished his chore by bathing the two dogs as well.
He was an Anaesthetist by profession. Having access to the gasses, he had one day given Nitrous Oxide to the dogs. They had indeed been in stitches.
On another occassion, on a day of great joy in the family where they had plenty of bubbly flowing freely in celebration, he had got the dogs to share in the festivities by giving them a taste of champagne as well.
They were in era where air travel was not very common. En route to UK to follow his postgraduate studies, my grandparents were aboard a cruise ship where one night there was a fancy dress ball. He won the competition for best costume for having shown up as the Queen of Tonga.
A daughter of one of his elder brothers was to be married off to someone who she really did not want to spend the rest of her life with. Seeing that no amount of direct conversation would convince her father to change his mind, it turns out that my grandfather and his younger brother had sent this elder brother anonymous letters bad mouthing the proposed suitor.
It worked. She instead married a wonderful man and lived happily ever after. And to this day, she remains grateful for the anonymous letters that they sent her father.
Then there were the episodes of the good doctor being a patient and being warded at the General hospital. According to my grandmother, she had one day gone to answer the doorbell to find "this man standing in front of me saying he wants the food that I cook. I got the shock of my life!"
On yet another occassion, he had attempted a daring escape along with his aforementioned younger brother (himself a consultant no less!). Upon seeing his physician approaching, the duo had quickly hidden themselves in the lift!
Subsequently, he had given up on his plans of escaping, and had instead decided to get his eldest son to fetch him hoppers and katta sambol from the nearby Bake House. Such was the need to avoid consuming hospital fare.
And the tales go on. But I'm sure this should suffice in illustrating the interesting character that he was. I am certainly lucky to be able to call him my own grandpa. I am equally unlucky to have never met him.
But the greatest people die young. Probably too good for this earth.
Back in 2009, we decided to get a Rottweiler, after my 2nd Pomeranian passed away of old age. She was 14. She survived one cancer, but another claimed her.
We had read all the bad press about them. Virtually everyone we spoke to about our decision tried to talk us out of getting a Rottie. But we got one anyway. He was the perfect puppy. He had the sweetest face, and at 7 weeks old, he weighed 4kg. For me, that was a delightful lot of puppy! He was black velvet and a bundle of bad attitude.
My mother suggested he be named Kaiser. Such a powerful name, this is probably the only breed that can do justice to it. In spite of all her apprehensions, my mother just melted when she first saw him. She can rarely resist something that is black in colour; but give her a black puppy, and she's sold.
Kaiser was loved, treasured and spoiled from the day he was born. His parents (Tyson and Kylie) belonged to a well-to-do family that cried, hugged and kissed him when we took him away. I come from a family that dotes on dogs, and it was easy to spoil this puppy.
We trained him to be friendly with all sorts of people. We took him on long walks. We loaded him in our car, or at the back of our pick-up and took him on trips out of town. Kaiser has been to my office, where my colleagues have smothered him in love and treats.
And then came the baby. Kaiser was told that he was going to be a nanny. He didn't make a very effective nanny...often giving me this "whyyyyyy did you do this to us?" expression when the baby cried late in the night. But he was the most incredible protector. The 45kg lug who had to be told that there is a stray cat in the premises and to puh-lease chase it away was swift when a bird landed on the cot. He caught and slaughtered it.
On another occassion when my daughter was playing in the yard, a big fat Monitor Lizard had ventured in to the garden only to be chased away by Kaiser. My husband had walked out during the commotion only to find Kaiser furiously barking at the Monitor who was clinging to a pillar on our fence, just out of Kaiser's reach.
Kaiser has made me proud on multiple occassions. At a gathering of my extended family, one of my little nephews would poke him on the thigh....and when Kaiser turned to look, the little boy would squeal and run away. Kaiser went back to snoozing only to find himself being poked again. His father was worried, and asked his son not to harass Kaiser. I kept an eye on him for a while. The little boy paid no heed, and Kaiser did no more than look when he was poked.
Kaiser has made us laugh many, many times. He ran off with an umbrella in his jaw once. And carrying it horizontally, he tried to gallop in through the front door. Needless to say, he couldn't come in.
After a particularly long luxurious bath, he was so comfortable that when called for breakfast, he just collapsed mid-walk and went right back to sleep.
My daughter was just a few weeks old when one my favourite aunts visited us at home. She held the baby for a long time, the entire duration of which Kaiser lay quietly at her feet. He dosed off and began to snore. I'm used to this, so it barely even occurred to me that he was snoring. But after a few minutes, my aunt asks me "Do you have a saw mill near here?". I replied "No".
Aunt : "Then who's sawing wood?"
Me : "That's Kaiser snoring"
Aunt : "Don't be silly"
The sawing of wood stopped at the exact moment that Kaiser was shaken awake.
Everyone worried about Kaiser being jealous of the baby. Au contraire. This boy was jealous of my mother's plants! On one occassion he ran off with a potted plant (yes, the pot went too). One too many times, he would uproot her plants, shake it clean of all the soil on it's roots and hand them to her. One day at work I get a call from her.
Mom :"Do you know what your puppy did?"
Me : "What did he do?"
Mom : "He picked the flowers in my garden and laid them at my feet!"
Me : "So you got flowers? Isn't that a nice gesture?"
Mom : "NO! I want my flowers alive on the trees! Not dying at my feet!"
In no time at all, our little Kaiser had grown in to a handsome 45kg stud. He loved his food. He loved other people's food too. He turned his nose up at fancy dog treats. He thrived on red rice and curried meat and veg. His vet (and my friend) took pride in the fact that he loved buffalo curd. He had the most voracious appetite, and was happy to consume any number of square meals that were given to him each day.
A rather frequent call I got while at work went as follows;
Mom : "Do you know what your puppy did?"
Me : "What did he do?"
Mom : "He stole all his chicken!"
Me : "If it's his, how can that be called stealing? Didn't he just take what was his?"
Mom : "I made all that chicken for his lunch AND dinner. Now what am I supposed to give him to eat for lunch?"
Me : "Fish?"
**Line goes dead**
There is too much to write about Kaiser. Maybe I'll compose a series about the antics of Kaiser?
I often find myself calling hoarders "hoarders". It's only when it came to spring-cleaning my own cupboards that I realized just how many things I myself have accumulated over the years.
Once you attach sentiments and feelings to things, it becomes that much harder to dispose of them; and that much easier to just put it back thinking "I can't get rid of this!".
In the last half day, I skimmed through 3 shoe boxes worth of letters and cards. I seem to have retained every birthday card I received since 1987. One that I have treasured the most is this adorable little pink card from my grandma. It has a drawing of a fluffy brown kitten sitting in a cane basket on the front, and she sent it in 1988.
And then there are the letters.
My oh my, the letters!
The single largest number of letters were from my classmate Amila. We used to write constantly to each other during the school holidays. Prabodha and Erandi feature prominently in the letter count as well. Then there are the girls who migrated early on....Dasuni, Gowri and Dhasha have penned a number of neat and tidy letters my way. I remembered all this; but what came as a pleasant surprise was the sheer number of letters I'd received from Saumya.
Samanthi hasn't sent me a single letter; which is odd...given that she was and still remains my best friend. But boy are there are a lot of no-reason cards from her! Many of these letters and cards have played on my then obsession with Elvis.
And then there were a few random letters from male friends and acquaintances. Interesting characters some; others whom I struggled to shake off. And a few, like Maneesha, who are still in touch though far across the seas.
Shankari is a girl I met and became very close to during a holiday in Singapore, way back in 1993. Every single letter that I had received from her was in a neat pile. It was interesting to see the change in her writing through the years from then, until 2005. Then came e-mail. It killed the need to write and post letters.
Darn it.
We all seem to have liked fancy stationary. But would often settle for scrawls on an old foolscap paper, or a sheet of paper ripped out of an old exercise book. Be it square rule, or single rule or even completely blank, Amila for instance, had written to me on all kinds of paper. There is a delightful mix of languages and scripts, and differing colours of pens and pencils used. My friends from abroad wrote in small, neat letters, and have covered every last inch of the paper (front and back) to minimize wastage.
It also looks to me as though we've all used old stationary discarded by our parents and elder siblings. As further cost cutting measures, we've used aerogrammes and stamped envelopes. Do these things still exist??
I miss those days.
Today's communication may be fast and easy, but it lacks the character and longevity of the good old pen and paper method.
I'm sure the change in handwriting, in contexts and contents are all reflective of how each of our personalities changed over time. My first letter from Shankari was neatly written on a sheet of pink Japanese stationary; the last letter from her is a hurridly scrawled half sheet where the words are far apart, and the letters were skinny and long.
But unfortunately, I don't have the time to read them anymore. I have retained a few very special ones, but have chosen to discard the bulk of it. Why? Because I can't see myself ever having the time to sit and read those again. It then simply boils down to being clutter; and I really need to declutter my house some more.
Two things I will retain though. All the birthday cards I've received, I am unable to throw away. What the heck, I'll hoard that a little longer.
And I've started a new stash. I am now hoarding the birthday cards that my daughter receives too!
In the 24 years that you have not been here, you have missed a lot.
My sister and I both qualified in our different fields. She went as far as getting a PhD, and she too is a Dr. Wijesekera, like you.
We started to work. She worked in Kandy, in Colombo and then in Houston and now, Austin. I stayed put in Colombo because I thought mother would be alone if I went too. I've changed careers multiple times; where each experience has enriched me. I learnt to drive, and can drive anything from a tiny car to a passenger bus. She's happy zipping around in a sedan.
We shifted house a couple of times. It's not been easy to leave behind the things you've touched. But what point is there in the material goods?
I'm a hot tempered mom to a little girl who carries your name. My sister is a devoted aunt (God knows why, but these are not things to question). I have had two dogs that you didn't meet, the latter especially, was the epitome of all those good qualities you spoke about. And, like you once said about how the best people die young, he went too soon.
Mother went on to become one of the most illustrous personalities in this country. You would have been proud of her.
Sitting next to your brother a few days back, we spoke about you. He looked thoughtfully at my little girl and said "she missed out". She really did.
I am grateful for the short time I had with you, and for the incredible influence you are even today.
You are sadly, fondly, desperately missed.
But you will remain forever young. Happy birthday.
Keratin is a protein which is found on the upper layers of the skin of mammals, birds and reptiles. It's main purpose is to protect the softer skin cells that make up the lower levels of the skin. Hair, nails, scales, beaks, shells, hoofs and horns are all made up of Keratin.
Humans of course would find economic uses in virtually anything. But in that list, it looks to me that the only item of real value for humans is hair - in the form of wool, with which warm clothing can be made.
Back in 2001, I visited a farm in Kangaroo Island, Australia where I was lucky enough to watch a sheep being sheared. The entire process took approximately 1 minute. The sheep didn't struggle or complain. Not as much as a whimper from her. At the end of it, she simply ran away with a look of "shear" embarrassment on her face. She needed to get out there and grow herself a new coat to hide her nudity. We were also told that the sheep actually like being sheared because it unburdens them of a lot of weight and summer warmth. A win-win situation, if you ask me.
The first thing I read this morning as I sat at my computer with my cup of coffee is that a violent attack has taken place at the Thula Thula private game park in South Africa a few days ago. Two baby Rhinos, Impi and Gugu are dead - their faces have been sliced off, and their horns have been taken.
Ever since I first read "The Elephant Whisperer", my love for the African bush has been rekindled. I admire Lawrence Anthony, his work and his passion towards the great beasts that roam only in Africa. Together with his French born wife Francoise, he set up the Thula Thula game park, where sanctuary has been provided for elephants, rhinos and a host of other animals.
Built much like an armoured tank, the Rhino is a vegetarian with no natural enemies.
Enter humans. Despicable, stupid, short sighted humans.
Rhinos, along with elephants, buffalo, lions and leopards were hunted in huge numbers for a show of power, prestige and to decorate walls. In ancient chinese medicine, rhino horns were valued as a cure for many illnesses.
Today, many countries in the far east seek rhino horns as they believe this provides a cure for cancer. In Vietnam, a rhino horn can fetch as much as USD 300,000. The demand exists, and the poachers of Africa risk life and limb, and stop at nothing in order to ensure that the demand is met.
The world is at the brink of losing this magificent animal because of a myth that its horn can cure people of cancer. It's just Keratin. Just say the word, we'll gladly send over all our nail clippings to you - it's the exact same stuff for which no animal needs to lose it's life.
The following is an extract of Lawrence Anthony's book "The Last Rhinos";
"The author condemns past and present governments of Vietnam, China, Indonesia, Thailand, South Korea, Taiwan and Malaysia who have filed to take effective action to end the superstitious use of rhino horn in so called traditional medicine. Their criminal neglect has driven the rhinoceros to the very brink of extinction all over the world"
The contempt he feels is unmistakable. He, and many others work tirelessly to save these animals. And yet, there are a bigger, richer group of people who clamour to bend down to ancient myths. Myths that science today have debunked over and over again.
My heart goes out to Francoise and everybody at Thula Thula. I can only imagine the pain they must be going through.
My sincere contempt goes out to all those who choose to naively believe that keratin from a rhino horn can cure illnesses. Be as naive and superstitious as you want. But not at the cost to the lives and limbs of others.
On the 7th of July 2007, the world voted in response to UNESCO's call to select the 7 Modern Wonders. Back when I was in school, I'd have thought "Damn it! More things to study!" But I do remember them.
Chichen Itza, Mexico
The Great Wall, China
Christ the Redeemer, Brazil
Petra, Jordon
The Colosseum, Italy
Machu Picchu, Peru
The Taj Mahal, India
The first few seconds of this video is how I know I'll not forget them in a hurry;
I was a preteen when I realized that I could pick up lots of things from just listening to popular music. But with luxuries such as YouTube and people who create music like the Piano Guys do, the visuals mean that you'll never forget what (in this instance) Chichen Itza is.
There's more to this track than the location.
This is a magical fusion of George Friedric Handel's "Sarabande" and "My Own Home" taken from Walt Disney's "The Jungle Book". Don't you just love how one thing can lead to another? The Jungle Book was based on the classic "Mowgli Stories" written by British author Rudyard Kipling. The story is based in India, where he lived at one time. This track also has Mayan influences. The Mayans were one of the world's oldest and greatest civilizations. Location? Present day Mexico.
And that's not all. While the Piano and Cello are at the forefront of the music, check out the drums. The attire. Note the artwork on the Cello.
Macaws are found in South America.
The Boa, Bear and Panther are characters from the Jungle Book. Did you notice the elephant trumpeting at the start? There's your Colonel Hathi and the Jungle Patrol!!! The word "hathi" means "elephant" in Hindi, one of India's main languages.
It's all so educational! And all so effortless.
Interestingly, unlike listening to your social studies teacher, your music teacher, your english lit teacher and your history teacher, you'd be hard pressed to forget what you learn by just paying attention to this absolute treat of a video.
I could go on and on about this. I could write about a hundred more songs.
My day starts at 4.30am. I drag myself off my bed and walk downstairs, zombie-like, to get started on breakfast and lunch. My day ends, if I'm lucky, at around 11.30pm when I'm finally in bed again, with my book and reading-light. More often than not, I fall asleep before I've got through 2 pages.
One reads a great deal about the importance of recharging ones' batteries. Resting. Taking time off each day to meditate, to exercise, to do something that makes you happy. But in reality, who has the time to put such sage advice in to play?
I love listening to music. Music has the power to uplift the spirit, and to change a mood. But music today runs in the background for me; whether I cook, or clean, or drive, or work, or iron, or play with my daughter....the music goes on. But I rarely get to focus on its nuances and accents as I once did.
But there is one luxury that I do indulge in. Every day, and in fact, several times a day too. It's called soap.
Ah the humble cake of soap! With it's roots going back to the Babylonian era in 2800BC, the soaps of today can do more than just clean (and self-clean too!). Soaps come in a myraid of shapes, sizes and colours. And oh the perfumes and the textures! **gushes**
It's aromatherapy, physical therapy and cleanliness therapy all rolled in to one delightful albeit slippery little block that fits right in to your hand.
And this is my daily luxury. My only luxury right now. But boy do I indulge in it!
On a recent trip overseas, I shamelessly busted close to USD 100 on soaps at just one shop that my nose lead me in to. I walked out with a small bag of L'Occitane soaps and a heart bubbling with joyful glee. Before that trip was over though, I had bought poppy seed soaps, edelweiss soaps, rock salt soaps, Hungarian rose soaps, whimsical soaps shaped like sea mammals and smelt of the ocean as well as the run of the mill, mass produced Palmolive soaps.
I'm happy.
I'm tired, but at the end of the day, the bubbles that wash over my skin leave me feeling alive and well again. Thank God for good soaps.
Did you know that soaps are mentioned in popular culture too? Take a looksee ->
This has got to be one of the better feel-good-indulgences out there.
M*A*S*H was an Amerian tv series that ran for ll years during the 1970s and early 1980s. I always held it in the highest regard for its humour, and for the sheer genius of its language. As I grew, I came to appreciate the many messages that lay within each episode.
The finale of the 3rd season ended with this scene. I still remember watching it for the first time, and feeling as stunned by it as I later learned that the M*A*S*H cast and crew had been on the day they had filmed it too.
Lt. Col. Henry Blake (played by McLean Stevenson) commanded the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, in Korea, in this exemplerary television series. He was portraited as a fine surgeon, a great friend and a questionable soldier. He was loved by all who worked with him, in one way or another.
Stevenson was set to leave the show for different pastures and they ended his stint at M*A*S*H by killing him off. He had been served his discharge papers, and was going home. His plane was shot down over the sea of Japan, and no one walked away from that tragedy.
Subsequently, the writers of M*A*S*H were assulted with thousands of angry fan mail. How could they do this to Blake?
And herein lies the beauty of this show.
The writers responded "Take your anger, and direct it at the war. We didn't kill Henry Blake. The war did".
The sheer power of this message still strikes a chord within. Wars are started for many reasons. But a few agonizing aspects remain common to them all. Death. Destruction. Panic. Anger. Loss. Pain.
Is there no better way to deal with our differences?
I think a lot, much like the Wombat (who also apparently digs a lot). I have a rotten memory, which leads me to think that I should write things down. I write a lot. I have always enjoyed it, and I'd like to think that I've honed a skill over the years. Currently going through a very challenging period of my life, I have put my writing skills to work; and work gainfully for me. It has been good; it has also been bad. But at the end of the day, it has been rewarding. But then there the things I think about. I don't think they are worth publication. I don't think they are worth money. But perhaps, they would be worth someone's time. And here I am. Careerwise, I'm a confused person. But as a human, I think I have my priorities straight - but more on that another day. I hope you like what you read here. Cheers!
