Coronavirus Communique #2

Where to start? Thursday night. The start of the weekend over here.  Cruising solo here on my lanai watching the world go by. Listening to some grooves, drinking a gin and tonic, pondering.

Elderflower berries floating atop my adult beverage (thank you Megane for introducing me to the elderberry in the gin/tonic thingy).

Marseilles floats by. That's where I bought the dried elderberries. At some old apothecary establishment near the train station. Interesting city.  I totally dug it. I love when I'm surprised like that.  Memories of Tunisia dominated that trip. A good vibe indeed.

I can't remember when we first went into lock-down here.  Perhaps it's been a month? Yes I think so.  So much time at home. I miss The Kitts dearly. They've got this whole other life in America currently. Shaika Spot so curious. Sami Bey entertaining with his athletics; jumping in the air to catch the fish and ending up doing round-offs... Shaika chatting away while Sami plots.

I'm watching this livestream right now from last summer somewhere near La Spezia, Italy. Some DJ collective spinning in a restaurant on the sea. Everybody walking around tanned, happy, content deep in the spell of a Mediterranean summer.

Another power outage. Sulaymaniyah goes dark. And then the gradual 'turning on' of the lights in the near vicinity; the wizard behind the curtain controlling whose apartment building's lights go back on first...

The corner dukan (store) is back open for business. They got shut down by the municipality for price-gouging, I guess.  That is what I heard. They got a spanking and had to shut down for 2 days.

So the big news today is that the Carrefour Supermarket here in the city opened up again today for customers (previously only for delivery). But alas, there is no way to get there but to walk due to the roadblocks.  I'm plotting how I can re-supply my chocolate soy milk stock... Imma guess it's about a 10 mile roundtrip. Certainly doable but it would be a heavy load to haul back. Pondering.

So that's it.


Cooped-up in Kurdistan in the Time of Coronavirus… March 25, 2020

Day 14 of lock-down here in Iraqi Kurdistan. I'm dealing with it well enough

Cooped-up in Kurdistan in the Time of Coronavirus…
March 25, 2020

Jazz music. Smoke. the Lanai. Work-outs, power-walking, knitting, sewing, laughing w/quarantine buddies- either remotely or together- at a respectable social-distancing spacing, of course, reading (Circe, The Prague Cemetery, Love in the Time of Cholera, and Port of Saints are all lying on the coffee table. Vying for my attention each of them. Shamelessly. Netflix: Cable Girls, Tidelands, South Park, Freud, Troy to name a few. And on and on and on.

I’ve learned a few things about isolating. It’s good to sort of have a routine- that you know you can mainly stick to.  I struggle with this still, but I’m working on it actively. Here’s what I came up with:

First thing waking up, coffee. Cruise around- maybe burn some incense. My current mixture is frankincense from Oman, myrrh from Oman, amber from Jordan, Cyprus from North America, some blend called Gloria Resin something that I remember from childhood because Catholic. I recall my sister being on a quest to locate some one summer she was back visiting us in SoCal. We traversed all through the funky shops in Laguna Beach searching for this. I think she found a big dark blue (?) cardboard cylinder with the loose resins, etc. It looked like you would never run out of it. That perceived by a 11 year old kid who didn’t begin to understand the art of incense burning… Recently I found either the same or similar blend at this Catholic religious shop in Porto, Portugal just down from the Clerigos Tower. I go there every time I am in town and stock up. It makes me happy beyond description.

Gloria Resin #44, as I recall.

But I digress… So, sometimes it’s straight to the incense.  Others I start right on in with a few hours on my work computer.  I’ve been busying myself creating a midterm for my class. I gave it a big push this morning, magically, and completed it early this evening.  Great feeling.  Also, I was missing my students and so started a new on thread Moodle Discussion Forum. Everybody who wished to participate was to post a meme representing their feelings cooped-up in Kurdistan, or Iraq more appropriately as many students come from Baghdad and further south.  They are from everywhere. It is fascinating.  I posted my response first, so they could get the idea and have some fun in expressing themselves. I’m looking forward to checking responses in 2 days!

Or… I take my computer, and phone, and coffee onto my lanai and sit in the sun, or rain, on my Iraqi cushions and watch my world wake up. Obsession of checking daily covid-19 statistics globally…


Not true. I have consciously weaned (like a conscious uncoupling!) myself of that tedium. Not completely, of course. I’m limiting my reading and doing well with it. 

I try to get to the gym (downstairs in the basement of the apartment building) by 9:30 every day.  I’ve been doing great with this routine. Yes, I’m discussing routines… I bring my jump rope and after every 3 sets of something I jump-rope 100 times and then go in the bathroom and wash my hands. And jazz. Always jazz now while working out.  Sweet.

Often I power walk around the entire apartment complex- either alone with my jazz, or with my power-walking buddy. It’s great stress relief and also just nice to come into contact with other people. Work, travel, politics, fashion, fitness; all the subjects.
I’d say quite often it’s about noon when I return to my apartment. Sometimes I cool down by going to our corner dukkan (store) and picking up some necessities including water, bubble water usually. Next-door is the green grocer so stock up there.  Currently I’m enjoying their bananas, ginger, and colored peppers.

Every other day is either a smoothie or other health concoctions I’m known to make.  Admittedly, I have a VERY nice-looking storage/surplus from all my favorite haunts in America: Mana Foods and Dragon’s Den on Maui, Ashland Food Co-op and Medford Food Co-op in southern Oregon, Celario health food stores in Portugal, Macro Center in Istanbul, and some random health food stores around Budapest.

On a side note, I love to search out health food stores when I travel.  Yes. And beaches.

Afterwards it’s back to the lanai if I’m not already on the lanai with my book. Occasionally I play my favorite app- Wordscapes.

About 2 pm is when I’m starting to feel peckish. Back to the refrigerator, staring. Lately grilled cheese comes to mind or peanut butter and jelly.  My new fav though is a rice cake with Thai sweet chili sauce on it (not too much). Next come my sprouts that I grow weekly. So delicious and gratifying a routine this is. Okay after sprouts is a veggie burger (from Carrefour) that I toast in my funky white toaster. Top it off with some melted Emmental cheese (like a harder Swiss cheese) and there you have it.

Cooking seems especially pleasing while cooped-up in Kurdistan during the time of coronavirus. A smug satisfaction really.  I really want to make the experience last because it is so deliciously satisfying.

The weather has been hit or miss. On those hits I simply soak it up.  My lanai is a lifesaver. That is all.

Afterwards, I end my routine.  I like this set-up; I keep to a routine in the morning to early afternoon. Afterwards I just let it be, however it’s supposed to be.  Keeps things interesting. 



"Floaties" in the eyes super-sized experience inside the cosmis rays of this epic sunshine... oh yea...Right now



always an 808 State of Mind

Memories; 3-D ‘floaties’ in the eyes gone BIG

5:21 pm
Saturday, August 17, 2019
A communique from Mum’s backyard porch

Sunny summer day; sunshine so dazzling, it is only necessary to be present. Listen. I’m a child. Listening to the breeze. Feeling the warm air dust my shoulders on this early evening. Quietness surrounds. The trees (Aspens) have a low, dull roar of shimmying. Sunlight plays in between the trees. Reminds me of hide-and-go-seek. Childhood memories; gold-shimmering low setting sun, sweet winds, innocence, whimsy.

Upgrade 2.0. This consists of much of the same elements, but a Keweenaw Brewing Company Borealis brōo can on the wrought iron table. Definitely looks strong enough to hold up this kick-ass can of beer- indeed! The ultimate last-minute over-the-top addition? Why yes, you guessed it: Da kine & da kine.

I was called into a higher awareness this afternoon when I got called into the kitchen to ‘help’, as mum so sweetly called out to me on the back patio while I was zoning out, reading my Ancient Mines of Kitchi-Gummi book on local Lake Superior lore. Like so much of the UP here (Upper Peninsula of Michigan), there is a lot of lore. Most have to do with shipwrecks, and this could be somewhat connected.  I use the word “could” quite liberally here as this entire book is possibly “could” make a connection to what the author ponders, rather adamantly in a passive-aggressive manner!

So yea, it’s an interesting book if you wanna check out an interesting read on  specialized local lore with a lot of Mesopotamian and Mycenean history- that is generally accurate actually- including the bit on Bahrain’s “Dilmun” civilization.

I digress… There seems a point I was hotly making. *lost*  Oh well. Onward I press.

The main point, lest I forget again, is that this was just an awesome awakening kinda day, here in America. I love falling in love with America all over again- during my annual returns.

On the Road Again I am. I love live on the road.  There are so many roads I seek to travel down. I love the energy, the challenges it provides, the introspection, the slowing down of time.

Listening to the coyotes’ hysterical laughter-like sounds during the Bewitching Hour. Being awake for the Bewitching Hour here is amazing to tune into. Honestly, there is so much to soak in during the Bewitching Hour- wherever in the world you’re vibbing.

Speaking of good vibbing, my mum is next to me on the porch reading Time Magazine, showing signs of slightly napping intermittently.
The sun just ducked behind the house and the shadows are stretched long- like a northern European Mannerist painting, but instead of an elongated neck of a human, I am staring at the elongation of trees.

We spent the afternoon making one of my brothers’ favorite dessert, apparently, but with blueberries substituted for lemons filling… It was pretty dodgy there for a fair bit, but in the end, I think it will taste fantastic because it was made with so much love and mad laughter.  At one point mum was laughing so hard that she was crying. Magic. It’s been that kinda day.  My Turkish meatball dinner prep won’t finish by itself, so I should tend to it now, but dammit if the weather just isn’t so dreamy.

Pine Mountain, another memory I celebrate every year by building onto those memories with sweat. Five hundred sweaty steps to be exact, climbing to the top of the ski mountain where, in summer while visiting we (most all of us at different times) converge and lower our blood pressure by climbing the stairs- at least one round, but as of late I’ve got it in my to complete 4 rounds. I love the challenge, the shaking legs, the quickening heartbeat, the sweat, that feeling of sunscreen dripping down from your trucker hat, past the outer corner of your eyeball, paralleling your nose to finally rest atop your upper lip.

The long shadow followed mum back into the house. One last patch provides a view of wild Turkeys foraging for uneaten corn, the infamous black squirrel that only speaks to brother Tim, feisty chipmunks, and some intrepid deer. It’s pretty relaxing, yes.

My apologies in advance for any sentence fragments, dangling story-endings, etc…


The ebb and flow of the tide of my existence

Here it is; 2019. Already.

Reflecting on this wishy-washy day here in Mesopotamia. Weather as fickle as my ponderings concerning where to next on Planet Earth. Philosophical ruminations of housing placement absorb my moments of blank-slate time. Google Maps is hardly a replacement for a globe. Oh what I would give to have a globe here. A nice, sturdy physical map-style globe a plus.

Spinning, trailing, anticipating, story-telling, culture-weaving- globes hold my fascinating. I remember growing up and going into the den. My father had an abacus. It lived in the cabinet, along with old photo albums. The encyclopedia set rested on an upper shelf. Always patiently awaiting someone's arrival. Some intrepid inquisitor wanting answers from the Oracle of stored knowledge- long before Google.

The globe was also in this spiritual realm- my spiritual realm during my wonder years. This den of knowledge on display. Questions answered right there.

We were a large family, yet I spent a lot of time at home entertaining myself. Being the youngest, and with a generous gap between the oldest sibling, who was already out of the house as my Wonder Years were in full formation, I had a perhaps typical childhood. The brothers, they were busy with intermediate and high schools respectively. With my father lecturing full-time and my mother a (progressive 70s) 'back-to-work' part-time librarian/social-worker, everybody was busy. I was curious.

The den. Typical 70s middle-class, I assume. All my friends had a 'tv room'. It was dark there, if I recall correctly. I loved opening the cabinet drawers. There was that cardboard box of typing paper. You know, the thin, crepe-like paper and then those sheets of blue carbon-copy paper. Seeing my ink-blue fingerprints from touching the carbon paper was another compulsion. This too met my expectations I suppose.  I indulged in this from time to time, yes. Throw in my typing fascination (I loved typing), and I was pretty successful at having a good time alone.

There was something about playing with the abacus. The clicking sound made by moving the beads. Very satisfying indeed. I didn't know what I was doing and it didn't matter. All I knew was what my father told me, tried to show me. Some method of numbers, I made up my own rules I suppose.

Moving along to the globe. Tilted. Why was it tilted? Damn that north pole looked good. White. The south more mysterious. Tasmania? Tasmania. Look it up in the encyclopedia! Make the connection from the Looney Tunes cartoons' character The Tasmanian Devil to this far-off solitary island I discovered and then read-up on. Life was pretty fucking fabulous.

Cuba. Another outlandishly mystifying island. All I knew about Cuba was that my father got my mother a mink (?) stole while he was there. I suppose I heard the word uttered a few times when we were all in the den together watching the news. I was there, yet not sure exactly what I was doing. Politics of the times wasn't even a consideration in my world.

Cuba led to Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Australia, Tahiti. Ahhh islands. My connection was forming at this time and I didn't even know it.

My father was all over the world during WWII. I remember him talking of the Philippines. Seeing his photos of Honolulu. That one with the palm trees swaying on the base, and that jeep. How cool was that jeep?

Jade Buddha. Still today my father's jade Buddha fascinates me. Every visit to my mum leads me to her top dresser, where the Buddha dwells to this day. Rub his belly. Dream.

Where does one learn to daydream? Lying in the grass squinting into the sun on one of those glorious days, I think. We had this tree in our front yard that I always used to play on. I used to do my gymnastic tricks in that tree. Hanging upside down was one of my major accomplishments. Something complete where I could bask in my own pride. I especially remember the bark on that tree.

Further satisfaction, peeling at the bark. I never wanted to scratch my initials in that tree, though.

From the balcony I gaze up into the hills, leading to the mountains, to Iran, to destinations unknown. I understand this fascination with destination unknown. Where to next? When to next?

I woke myself up this morning from a dream that I was missing my plane. I was at the airport and couldn't figure out where my flight was. What does this mean?



abstract behavior

End of semester ruminations, meditations, cogitations, abstractions (these have always been the most gratifying). Filling with vital wellness, the war zones from the semester start to dissipate: my body instinctively melts back into suppleness. Super successful semester and learned a lot as an educator, a colleague, serial-expat, Homo sapien. You get the picture here? I'm going deep today people.

Keeping up with the news these days is stressful, yet highly anticipatory. Maybe it simply resulted from a challenging semester? At any rate, as I trotted back home daily, I treated myself to the news back home in America, and podcasts, and knitting. Season of the Knit y'all. Deep Space #1

So much has happened. Here's the summary: Seth Abramson on twitter; Robert Muller; Chris Hayes news show, Preet Bhahara's *Stay Tuned With Preet, Fashion Hags podcast, *Intercepted with Jeremy Scahill podcast, *You Might Remember This (specifically the Charles Manson series) podcast. As always I continue my semi- fascination with: *My Favorite Murder podcast,  various How-to knitting YouTube snippets (the nails... all their nails are, generally, so polished as they casually explain how to get out of some knitting snafu. I'm totally getting into those, and critiquing them. Yes, must be all those narrative essays I've been reading the last 1/3 of this semester...

Anyhow, yes, peeling off the layers of the semester. I fucking dig this feeling. I cultivate this essence. I deserve it. I gave somebody a massage last week and man it felt good to get back into traditional arts. To use my hands so creatively, to heal another fellow human being, and no computer on, sitting over a screen, talking to an audience that demands your attention (in such a good way this semester!), etc. Haha, this is more difficult, the shedding of the semester's shenanigans!

But I digress... So yes, incense, sweet almond oil, Tiger Balm, Tibetan Monks chanting with singing bowls (YouTube saves the evening- again), and listening to breaths, following networks of stress balls that you can feel bursting as you attack them. That feeling when you dissolve some area of stress and your massage table victim is nearly asleep. Good to heal people. Gratifying.

Scene: 6 am lying in bed drinking a Frangelico coffee... after an evening out with some fellow lovelies to one of our favorite haunts.  They make the best 'latinos' (totally stupid name for a large draft beer with a shot of tequilla inside, lime juice and salted rim (with crusted pomegranate). Anyway... yes, this exists here- in case you're wondering. I feel like I could be at Charley's, in Paia, Hawaii, or Omar's (Ashland, Oregon), or Teddy Beer (Istanbul, Turkey), or the Italian Arms (Tunis, Tunisia), or Rik's (Manama, Bahrain), or Zelda's (Capitola, Califiornia), or just any cozy neighborhood bar/restaurant with a scenic view.  This scene just so happens to span the horizon with a 240º view maybe, looking at the foothills towards Iran, etc.

The conversation spanned across broad and narrow disciplines; dream-time journeys, fashion, art, politics, fabric, food, literature, poetry, school (occasionally), surfing, vision quests, ceremony, travel...

Wanderlust. Under a 2-week countdown watch currently. Man I DIG this feeling, too. That pre-travel 'feeling'. Super sweet vibes here folks. Pure ecstasy. 

All week the big-wave surfing events were occurring- with the majority being held in Hawaii. I tuned into the Jaws Challenge, the 2nd leg of the big wave series. The first being Nazare, Portugal (which is a seriously sweet spot on this planet and have been contemplating this area on my slowly growing list of where to purchase a property), then Maui, and then off to Maverick's, just north of Santa Cruz. Yea, another sweet spot that had much significance in my life and formation of myself as an individual entity, Santa Cruz.

So Jaws swooped down and took me outta reality all this past week. So fun getting home, cooking some dinner, settling on the couch and getting cozy (yes it's getting chilly here now y'all), grabbing my current knitting project. Setting up the laptop on a big pillow and watching all the heats and seeing Maui and the surf, and the coastline, and the landscape... So much love for the planet.

So, this has been my mind frame as of late. I woke up at 5 am somehow (after falling asleep during the semi-finals 2nd heat) and put on coffee. Why not stay up and listen to eARTh rhythms while Suli sleeps peacefully. This city I call home. It works. But the village... The village where I plan to rest my head for many moons... This name I not know, yet. I'm plotting though. Portugal, Italy. That's the short-list. I have to say though, France (thank you Marseilles for being super awesome and grabbing my attention, unexpectedly yet in retrospect expected with serendipitous flair), could be a distant third.

When I have the time to indulge, I have been researching overseas properties. Another feeling full of abundance that makes my insides shine. Thinking about this time next year stokes me out even more! I'm slowly amassing a question bank for this task so I can make a logical choice. My logic concerns closeness to the ocean first/foremost. Next is locating a village fairly close to a medium-sized city. 

So, early this morning I'm back in bed, Frangelico coffee in hand (weekend, folks), laptop open positioned on lap (makes sense, right?), twitter-tweeting. First up, Chris Hayes (one of my fav, fun, geeky newspersons) is up with a photo of a sunset on Mars.  What ensued is pure internet relevance; robot-memes waving their hands back at the landing craft, with the original sunset photo behind some dark, threatening-looking Martin foothills- or mountain ranges, I guess it depends on perspective.

Current research projects coming up, along with my American sojourn are as follows, researching Italian immigration via grandparents, as well as looking into legalities of owning property in Portugal and Italy.

Kitties! It has been 11 months since I saw the Kitts. It's definitely tough being apart. I see how content they are, roaming around indoors/outdoors, and I know it's all good. What a life they have been having. From scrappy street kittens tasting death, Starr rescued them and it all unfolded from there. Bahraini kitties, sigh. 

Time to slink into the day here. It's 7:30 am and I have at the top of my list of one thing to do today- nothingness. Slink into nothingness. Ahhh. Running, yoga, meditation,  food, incense, da kine. Nothingness is awesome. I covet nothingness. I am natural nothingness.

So yea, here I be y'all. Hope it all made sense


Groove Thursday morning

Finally! A weekend to devote, mostly, to 'maintenance'; spiritual maintenance.

Out on my lanai drinking cold coffee and eating leftover potato chips this morning while surveying evidence from last night's shenanigans... Great to cut loose when you need to!

It's a fine morning here in the Cradle of Civilization: puffy clouds scattered across the horizon, linking up to one another towards the eastern mountains, yoga, grooving to a live house set from DJ Gabrielle over on Waheke Island in the southern hemisphere (NZ), exfoliating, tweezing, nail-polishing, thinking, creating, etc.

Soul food is real. I'm devouring since earlier this morning. Ah yes, consume that Soul Food. A tantalizing breeze across the city reminds me of the coming weather. This time of year is sweet.



Every Day is a MythHollyday

deep inside the bowels of Tuni Baba, Iraqi Kurdistan

Every Day is a MythHollyday

Equinox:  aequi- 'equal'     nox- 'night'  (Latin)

Autumnal Equinox: This land holding a firm grip to the sun beating down upon its earth, incessantly. The battle nearly won. Soon night shall prevail. This day brings change with equal hours of daylight and night. Tomorrow we are renewed: Winter is coming.

As I gaze into the bright morning sun beating down on my lanai here in the Cradle of Civilization, the rhythm of summer seems to want to reign supreme still. The marching clouds in the distance advance, they are equipped with a different story-ending. Fearless and fearful of the sun perhaps, they dance around and into the sun's path. As of right now, the sun has its way. Soon its time is up. Give in to the natural rhythms, please!

This transition holds much lore involving celestial science, oral traditions, and myth. I am attracted to THIS. In our modern world we are so far removed from eARTh rhythms unless we seek out the silence that opens up the channels to this awareness. Awareness. aWAReness. It is in a sense a war...

In ancient Greece Persephone returns to the underworld where Hades, her husband, dwells.

Ancient Mesopotamia and 3rd millennium Ur marked the change with the Akītu. Because the autumnal equinox marks the time when the moon is visible longer than the sun, it seems natural that the people of Ur revered Nanna (Inanna/Ishtar)- their patron (moon) deity at this time. Babylon, Uruk, Nippur, etc. all seem to have similar Akitu festivals, but with minute differences. Difficulty in interpretations, of course, result due to gaps in recovered documents (cunneforms) and interpretations.

Magikal traditions of autumn are especially potent, so I always like to delve deeper into my own 'Bewitching Hour' ruminations. After all, darkness is a beautiful thing; it's where seeds germinate. In terms of our subconscious, it's the center of power and so potency, IMHO.

Recently I've dusted off my tarot cards and indulged in giving a friend a reading. Intuitively, tarot necessitates reflection and observations of the natural world that can guide us in the present. It's an enormous task with responsibility attached. We are losing touch with eARTh vibrations, and context is blanketed with a myriad of external influences that work in equally mysterious ways. Just yesterday I picked back up my protractor and started messing around with geometrical shapes. Time to sink deeper, yes.

This coming autumnal equinox, I feel, is already tugging at my being. I am absorbed with seeking out the mysteries of this land I call home at this time. I am a blank slate eager to decipher cuneiform inscriptions that will etch themselves into my memory, my DNA coding.

So yea, that's where I'm at on this fine day. The Bewitching Hour of the autumnal equinox draws near; 5 am tomorrow or thereabouts. Such as the dying off of the crops with a procession of renewal of the eARTh, so shall I shed my past that no longer serves as once beneficial.

Okay, more coffee...


in the zone: I am woman, hear me ROAR


Holding Pattern

I've been on a 'holding pattern' for the past month or so- as in 'holding my shit together' pattern... Summer fever and working through summer; tough challenge, but I accepted it with as much grace as I could muster. The semester is starting to wind down now and the 2-week countdown has begun I'm elated to report.

World Cup fever has also taken over our crew here. Being on this side of the world (close (enough) to Russia) means that game-timing is quite excellent. We assemble at some local watering hole and watch the game under the stars and just shooting the shit basically. Good fun. Good crew. Good shenanigans.

Last night we hit up the Dubliner Irish Pub, our second choice. Our current favorite, 'Vogue', was all booked up. The tele is mega-huge, and it just kinda reminds me of the drive-in theatre daze- not that that was around when I was growing up. Actually I remember them mostly because of going to the swap meet with my dad on Saturdays.

This one we went to a lot was in the parking lot of a drive-in movie theatre. He would be wearing that raffia sombrero and walking around with glee looking at all the gadgets, wires, and all-things seemingly broken and useless. Yea, those aisles were his favorite aisles. When the owner of such fine curiosities would come up to us, my father would go into his 'demonstration mode' with his hands. Always the hands. Talking. Then the camaraderie would come about between inquisitor and seller. They spoke the same language. They spoke the language where hard-working men from immigrant families talk story- their stories. Yea,

Yea, those hands shaped me. Damn. I miss the shit outta him some days. Since I'm the youngest of 5, half my siblings had already left home when I was starting that staring-silently-while-questioning- life-around-me phase,  I spent a lot of time just hanging out with him on the weekends. Oftentimes he and my brothers could be found in the garage- working on projects: radio-controlled airplane building and repairs, working on cars, organizing tools- yea, that kinda family. My core is that (IMHO) solid foundation that produced my basic principles that I always challenge myself to live up to.

Ah family time.

But I digress... That was a great tangent to follow- great memories of my father add to my Saturday Morning Sanctuary Space. You know this space as all my previous 'blogging day' spaces; in bed with fresh french press coffee. The kitties are profundly missed. Their progress as 'dreamers' is going well. They are fully adapted into Pacific Northwest Americana Kitty Kat Kulture. Their family adventures continue on in spirit, and various social media, this Chapter. Damn the kitts; adorables!

Speaking of french presses, last summer I picked up this all kinds of awesome stainless steel french press on amazon. It is easily one of my most coveted items that made the cut in shifting spaces and heading to Iraqi-Kurdistan mode.

Back to the Russia World Cup 2018, last night's game was kinda a bummer; Brazil lost to Belgium. Admittedly, they played a solid game; Brazil just could not find a space opening up for them to score. Another game tonight awaits!

Back to the main idea I originally had for today's entry... 6-week vacation mode coming on strong. The long, slow build-up is so worth the wait. I'm gleeful just visualizing organization:

Step 1: Basically, spin the globe. Figure out main theme: yoga/sun/surf/Portugal. Then, change to Plan B (Thailand), then Plan C (Sri Lanka). Plan C was pulling HARD at me; had me nearly convinced that monsoon season won't be so bad- which I firmly believe is the case, but, Plan E (original Plan A) came back around again, after Plan D's inception, Morocco. Haha, yes. Step 1 has a delicate balance between wanderlust and logistics. The figuring out of flights, flight awards, multi-city itineraries, etc. Such matters lessen the stoke factor in those moments of frustration between different airfare websites, getting all the damn pass-codes together, etc. Exhausting that part, but then FINALLY one day it all comes together (this morning for me): Flying into Lisbon, and outta Marseilles back to Suli with stopovers in Istanbul, of course. Think about including Plan D, as well as semi-dwell on newly formulated (this morning!) Plan F: Marseilles! I haven't taken a look-see in Marseilles since 2001. I'm curious. I'm stoked. Then I was also thinking about a cruise through the second-hand clothing shops in Paris... All over the place I am. A solid plan, I was KINDA looking forward to tropics though... Alas.

Step 2: organize all tedious stuff: passport/currency info/train information/necessary documents for proof of existence- if necessary... Also included in this step is reviewing in my mind things that I need to gather. Put the backpack in an underused corner somewhere in the apartment and just lay it open and as I walk by here and there, as I remember things I just drop it into the bag. Don't even attempt to look at its contents piling up daily. Deal with it later.

Step 3: Later... Process of elimination. This step always makes me feel smarter- about everything. I'm really good about packing light (for trips ONLY, as I have a (some would say reckless habit of over-packing when I make my moves). Everything gets used, AND there is always room for exotic fabric purchases... If there isn't, boom get the cheap-ass duffel bag you got down in the bazaar and fill it with goodies!

Step 4: Plastic zip-lock baggies

Step 5: Just do it.

That's it for today folks, peace.


May The 4th Be With You

Spring Fever in full blossom here in the +964. Birds chirping, a fresh vibe envelops the atmosphere. Last night saw some heavy rain following a spectacular sheet lightning show through the clouds and buildings.

We were enjoying a bottle of Lebanese red out on the lanai when the sky violently tore open and cut loose. A mad dash inside, we scrambled to pick up our scattered accoutrements on the ground and take the party inside. From the comfort of the living room we droned on about life, love and the pursuit of happiness- as we do.

The weekend has arrived! I've settled into a comfortable routine here in my 4th month in KRD. My happy place HQ is my lanai. After a whirlwind trip to Istanbul during break, I returned with my belongings and finished 'setting up shop'.

Of course the trip included several unexpected hitches. Most memorable was the bus breaking down about 30 minutes from the border late in the night...

We, a group of seven- myself being the sole female, were traveling from Suli to Diyarbakir. I was anticipating the journey through the Assyrian Empire. Watching the moving picture show as we rolled along down the winding highway, the route cut through swaths of Fertile Crescent ancient pre-history much to my delight. A keen observer, my imagination wandered.

Dusk cloaked the physical landscape, provoking my mental running storyline to run into overdrive. Memories flooded of my travels through America with Johnny and Truck. I dozed off and on as I tried my best to settle into a comfortable position for the long journey through the night to the border.

The empty palace (bus) suddenly awakened. Slowing down, we were headed down a dirt path. Oh, is this where we get hijacked? No. Now wide awake, my traveling parter and myself discuss the drivers remiss hours before when we were barreling down the highway and hitting more than a few speed bumps at full speed... Something has gone awry.

Perhaps 10 pm, we all spilled out of the bus and stared as the driver, who had already called a mechanic, who was staring at the bus. Said mechanic rocks up in an Audi moments later and gets to work. Not sure of the problem, we settled down into our new scene on the movie set. Down and out somewhere between Zakho and the Ibrahim Khalil border crossing in the dead of the night.

Stars chattering and friendly dogs waging their tails greet us along with a lone nightwatchman of the area; keeper of the street dogs. Cigarettes are passed around. When in Rome...

Soon chai follows. From out of nowhere a delivery guy shows up with a fresh pot. As the only female on this movie set, my thoughts immediately run to, 'where am I going to go to the bathroom if needed'? I politely decline the chai.

During the next few hours new acquaintances and friendly conversations ensue. Keeping a low profile I get out my Ipad and start typing away, not wanting to let this newly-forming script disappear into the recesses of my internal hard drive.

At some point, we learn that the bus will not continue on with us on our journey. Everybody assembles in the bus to collect their things. We amble down the dirt road in the direction of the highway where we will wait until another bus comes along and picks us up.

Our new chariot arrives, fully packed. Ugh. This border crossing is definitely going to be long and unpleasant. Fortunately there is a double seat where we get to sit together in the back of the bus. All eyes on us, the only yabangees (foreigners *westerners*), we settle into the journey. Sleep arrives. But not for long. Soon enough we hit the border.

Something is up. As the token yabangees, we get interrogated by both bus driver assistant as well as passengers. Could we transport the black bags of cigarettes that seems every passenger possesses? We politely decline. Moods change. 

At the border such pomp an circumstance follows in a series of events. Giving passports/residency cards, getting them back, getting off the bus as it is searched, getting back on the bus, etc. This sing-song continues on for a few rounds, and we haven't even gotten to the official border procedural event.

Perhaps four hours later we are back on the bus driving on Turkish soil. Sleep. Sunrise knocking on my window, I awake to a spectacular scene. The hills are illuminated and sparkling this warm dreamy glow. There is no more sleep to be had when tasked with this situation. More pounding away on the keyboard.

the bus drops us off about 300 meters from the front door of the Diyarbakir Airport. Journey #1 ends. We get off and walk through the security area where the guards seem confused that we are walking. A taxi pulls us and asks us to get in for the remaining 200 meters... Weird. We decline.

Journey #2 goes off without a hitch. Arriving at Attaturk Airport in Istanbul, we go our separate ways. Feels good to be back. It's going to be an awesome four days. Indeed it was.

Next time I'll cover the return trip. Such highlights include a 16-hour unexpected layover in Baghdad- Airport... Ahhh Iraqi Airways, you disappoint...


armchair traveling

Sargalau, Iraqi Kurdistan region

Just another morning of pondering…

Dazzling sunlight streams onto my lanai (balcony) as I sip coffee and greet the day. It’s the last day of the semester and all is well in my world. Another milestone achieved in another country, I’m anticipating my upcoming adventure traveling through northern Iraq to Diyarbakir, southeastern Turkey next week.

I drift off into the past, seeking insights into the stories from these ancient paths. The caravanserai (resting spots for weary travelers and business people) where peoples from all over the ancient world would find themselves together for a night or two and tell their tales, eat, rest: Where they are from; what they are transporting; their destinations, etc.

In my mind I contribute to this ritual. I seek solace in the past, perhaps running away from the present confusions from a global world and all the ensuing difficulties. What has really changed though? From oral histories to cuneiform tablets to papyrus to paper to computer, humanity desires to create some sort way to immortalize their actions as their physical bodies decay. How do I weave my story into something finite?

I also desire to share ideas, stories, coffee with people. These brief moments of time shared, how to etch these soliloquies into a timeline that endures the shifting sands of time where I can return to at my will- whatever the physical coordinates I dwell in at any given time?

Sirens ring out in the distance. My coffee needs refilling, yet I can’t be bothered in this moment to shift into ‘that’ reality. Birds are chirping, palm trees are swaying, clouds are marching, and I am pondering. I stick around in THIS reality, waiting to intercept another story that surely will materialize through this diaphanous portal.

But, coffee…Time to disturb the past and enter the present. A sudden downpour! Perfect timing.


And the dark night will give you the day. (that Special Feeling-March 30: My most favorite bewitching hour- the storm commenced)

Tonight Suli opened up to me

(I love Airdrop; sometimes technology really gets it right. It's so fucking useful)

Anyway, Still washed aglow with that feeling one can get when they think they must have been the only earthling to witness an event. That feeling.

It was a crazy night *yawn* The day started trotting off to the bank. Yay! I finally was approved *yawn* for a bank account. I hadn't ridden in that direction since last week so knew about the civil servants strike, but hadn't seen it. There are tents set up, the road is closed so everyone has to circumvent. This region is so interesting, fragile yet with a core strength that inspires.

A few hours spent at the uni, and let the weekend commence. Oh yea, then I ended up back at said bank again- just joyriding this time though. My next super-exciting mundane stunt? I pulled off another Carrefour journey. I actually got to check one thing off my "to buy" list- a fan. I predict this next week to be the week that weather dictates I will need a fan...

There is just come comfort in knowing there is 1 grocery store with exactly 1 aisle that is dedicated to 'health food'. I know. It's not Mana Foods, or Ashland Co-op, but it's there. Another small victory is knowing that I already this was going to be the case, so faithfully every new move to new country I pack exactly 1 suitcase FULL of potions. It's like Christmas all the time for me; looking in my bathroom cabinet and see all those Dr. Bronner Organic Soap bottles awaiting...

PICK ME, PICK ME, they silently scream out at me when I peruse. Just last week I finished my Almond soap. I opened up that treasure chest of delight *squeal* and lustfully mulled over my choices: Peppermint (old #1), Almond (new #1 for 3 years running), Eucalyptus (unexpected pleasure), and Lavender (kinda going on the outs- yes, you can tell I chose this one).  And then there is the Skin Trip Mountain High Coconut body lotion, you fans know- that same one that hasn't changed in 20+ years. I love potions from home for sure.

Steering back on course now...

As you can tell, I'm still in that 'honeymoon' phase of a new area... Everyone seemed to (somewhat reluctantly) agree to hang low and we'd all resurface tomorrow evening, so I followed suit. I ate the entire box of bonbons (as I do) that my friend turned me onto that night at Carrefour when we were supplying for another's tequilla-themed birfday soiree. It has evolved into monthly tradition: Carrefour means payday means box of bonbons to devour in less than an hour. It works. Also, the chocolate soy milk, and the bubble water...

Continuing on...

The night was spent binge-listening to My Favorite Murder podcast and knitting my-totally-awesome-still-in-formation-pencil-skirt. I've come to an impass though, and need some critical consultations from friends in the know.

Eating. Yes, eating also played an important role. Spiritual binge-eating I call it. All week at work I only eat a (huge) salad, so that 1st night of weekend it's a grabbag. I dozed-off staring at the skyline as My Favorite Murder droned on in the background fuzz- something about their live show in Anaheim...

On a side note, I've LOVED watching these Murderino ladies evolve the past few years. I'm not even sure how I first found their podcast. I think it was Katie or Diana? I've turned quite a few friends onto this podcast. Istanbul, with the kitties, and the KnitWits (our group of wayward drinkers with a knitting problem during Snowpocalypse 2017. Yosemite, high in the Sierra Nevadas on the Merced River at the rock, by the Trailer Girlz pad. That was suck a fucking awesome headquarters. Twas also a great run. I did always think I was going to run into a bear- every day. Or a mountain lion. Heehee. Flying to Hawaii on 5 episodes. In Ashland at The Kitts groove pad listening to them outside on the lanai staring into raw SoOr landscape that can only be southern Oregon. Every trip I take, My Favorite Murder comes along for the ride (No Agenda, Snoop Dogg's GGN, Lore and Two Dope Queens podcasts too).

MFMs content- it's  just interesting, and funny in an organic kinda way- from the beginning. Random. Love it.

Back in bed later, I slumbered. Something woke me up. Thinking it was much earlier in the Bewitching Hour, I got up. I love roaming the halls at this hour. Always. All ways. It's that da kine abstract daze, my nocturne. Its arrangement of line, form and color leave my breathless and eager to indulge in its texture. Mood. Moulding. Nocturne. It's on.

What a fucking amazing display of nature follows. Darkness interrupted with horizontal streaks of lightning. I realized this grumble was rolling thunder. What a delightfully agitated scene I am witness to. I sensed rain to follow. This land knows. I know.  Just waiting.

My lanai is so inviting. Settling in, here comes the rain. A brief appearance and once again all is quiet (well, it is a city and all but it's still relatively 'quiet' as far as cities go). Thinking the show was over I debated going back to sleep, grabbing my computer to write...It was already 5 am. My internal rhythm's ego injured (thought it was 3 amish), I sat in disbelief. Get over it. Boom.

Light has broken through the greydation sky and suddenly a hugh 'crack' and the sky lets looks little balls of hail. The size of a Cocoa-Puff, they hardly stuck yet hail nevertheless. The moment was soon over. What a moment though. How fantastic to witness this event up in the foothills I imagine. Time to explore the hills. Perhaps that should be tonight's get together. Yes. I'll offer it up to the local local branch of the general council of weekenders' KRG shenanigans.

I realize I'm supposed to go hiking these very hills today, but that will likely be cancelled by this eternal downpour. I guess I'll just chill and watch the show from the couch unless I can wrangle anyone into some explorations. Oh, just realized this likely means no Nepalese food sellers down in the park today, or a run today.

It's nearly 8 am. Time to make coffee...


I spy

Friday morning; stillness. 

On my lanai listening to the birds. Only birds. Birds and Chinese Fan Palms. Two ghost apartment buildings standing like skeletal monoliths standing guard. Pigeons, squatters, take refuge there. Twenty four floors I count in each. I wonder what their story is. 

I spy street kitties. One is darting underneath parked cars, traversing its hunting grounds perhaps. I wonder what they hunt. Finally a meow!  A woman that lives in the building walking her dog passes by said kitty. 

I spy a car parallel parking. A five-minute endeavor. Fascinating. Going on month three here in KRD, I've made some observations. There are a lot of SUVs here. Gas must be cheap here... Certainly a hella lot cheaper than in Turkey. I didn't see a lot of SUVs there. The SUVs here aren't as massive as they are in the Gulf, but they do exist in abundance here. That is all, on pondering automobiles anyway.

I hear music off in the distance. If it's the cami, then the loudspeaker isn't working properly. This city, it's interesting. I wander the streets, almost feeling as if I'm cloaked, as I go about my business- whatever it might be. It feels normal, natural even. 

Coffee. French roast with a hint of pecan wafts through the air. That first strong sip feels warm and supple against my lips. It's comforting. I'm not that person that needs it to function though. I am my father's daughter, in that I'm compelled to activate upon waking. Coffee helps to slow this process down. It gives me the time to simply chill for a while as I connect with my other characteristics that many times take a back seat because, well that's life. You gotta go to work, and in order to do that, you gotta plan your day, etc. Coffee serves as my 'just chill the fuck out for a few minutes and let your intuition sort out some things semi-consciously, so things will be pono (in balance)".  

So, Suli here in the NW of the country lies in the foothills of the Zagros mountains. I'm currently re-reading The Epic of Gilgamish (I first read it when living in Bahrain), and Suli was the land of Zamua. The area dates back to The Flood and plays a prominent role, but in this (Sumerian) version Utnapishtim rids himself of all his possessions and builds The Preserver of Life, which lands atop Mount Nisir (thought today to be Pir Omar Gudrun here). After releasing all the animals, he and his wife are granted immortality. 

As I understand it, The Lullutu lived in Zamua, predating Assyrian and Sassanian invasions (dating from 880 BC to the end of the 3rd century). Zaman became known as Sharizor. Under Ottoman control (17th century), it became Baban, named after its 'founding fathers'. There is some connection here to a family of Georgian Mameluks- but I haven't researched this, yet. This seems to be the starting point for Slemani's 'modern era'.

*why doesn't coffee stay warm forever*

There is some sort of walking tour of the historic houses of Slemani- which is next up on my list of sites to see. 

The 'hood is starting to show signs of movement, it's now 9 am. I still hear music in the distance, along with the white noise of traffic. The birds do not accept taking back seat to the cacophony of sounds though. 

Looking up, I spy the pigeons roosting onside their austere-grey skeletal alcoves spying down across the land just doing their thing. In this moment I feel the sun warming up the land of Zamua. Taking off my hoodie, I'm ready to soak up the stories that might offer up in whispers.



...and in that instant, everything changed

stories from da `hood

...(l)and in that instant, everything changed. Something shifted alright.
transported back to El Portal and the seductive Merced (river). Further back I travel- back to any of those days, any of those lands- but the song remains the same; lying on a beach, some grass, the floor of my apartment, whatever. I am always looking up into the sun, as it warms my body.

You can take da wakine (girl) out of the beach, but never the beach outta da wahine. Hawaii, so many days staring into space and watching my thoughts, psyche, march by in steady rhythm- until something alters. Yea, these moments are exquisite. I covet them. So much thinking occurs on my lanai, while relaxing out in the sun. So.much.primal.pondering. The elixir. I found my dose, and apply it at every chance.

One of my favorite 'early-move' moves (~ 1-3 months) into a new living situation is to secure a beach chair, outside lounging furniture, and ambient lighting (still to come that one- outside of candles). Spirits help! All da kine fixings shape my reality. Every place different, yet every place connected- geographically, yet also spiritually. Spirituality, whatever it is, there is familiarity. Deep down in some powerful rhythm, worked by some powerful wizards (beings to tangible objects), whatever it is, wells up and needs to express itself. I guess this is my addiction that cultivated. It is me. 

So yes, here I am in KRD, connecting to my internally-wired hard drive looking at my photo stream from last summer: The Yosemite Chapter. The SoOr. Chapter. The Kas Chapter. The Laguna Beach Chapter. The Hawaii Chapter. The Gaziantep Chapter, etc... All are an inner-connected web. Not linear (the work of science). The work of nature (rhythm). For this knowledge I am sane.

I guess that's about all. I wasn't really thinking to post, but while sitting here on my lanai, knitting my pencil skirt (side 1), listening to Suli Sounds. Earlier I thought I heard an accordion. I haven't heard the sax in over a week. I hear children every day playing outside at the playground. Squeals of delight I tell you.

Then there are the two street kitties that faithfully come to the common area. WhitePaw, as some kid named kitty, is quite affectionate, very dirty, and reins as co-regent. The other co-regent is a tiger kitty. I can never understand what its name is. The two work you together as 1 entity, even though they aren't friendly with each other, at all really. They are felines. They are smart. We bond.

That kitty bond, though... The Kitts have my heart. Sometimes I'll be watching Brittania (new on my radar along with The Plebs and Altered Carbon coming up), or whenever and The Kitts are right there with me. We are cruising around the kitchen, I fret while they consider the balcony-which is open and so a scary option for any cat caretaker, we all hang out together doing our 'mundane' routine called life... All that, I miss.

But The Kitts are evolving splendidly. Warms my heart while making me forget how dastardly Sami Bey could be- with his ability to annihilate favorite fabrics   Every person that has catsat has a story that will unravel, such as a favorite item of clothing would when Sami Bey would masticate it into a black hole of death. Fortunately, he is LOVED so dearly and we cat-proof all fabric we covet...

Sami haze

hypnopompic Shaika

Shaika Spot; rabble-rouser extraordinaire. She knows how to satisfy her political agenda. She can shred, with her eyes all the while she is watching you stealthily. Wanting a reaction, she fidgits when I finally catch onto her vibe, that she's been vibing for likely minutes previously, slowly weaving her web until I fall victim. She is an adorable Svengali, and Sami Bey is duped into it. Always falls for it. He's onto her now, so now he indulges for a higher purpose. This is how they roll. I know...

So yea, that about wraps it up. I don't think I have any other tangents to stray off on. If I do, I'll save them up for the next communique. Haha, I just realized that I left off with my knitting mid-row (150-stitch long row) to write up this post.

I guess the thing to walk away with after reading this is that you understand how much I enjoy lounging in the sun.

                                                                       As always, no proofing


Somber Sunday

Newroz! Spring has spring here in the K.R.D

My staycation here in Sulaymaniyah continues. I woke up yesterday with an ever-so-mildly-annoying headache *hangover?*. It certainly wasn't a 'wild' evening; I had some friends over and we just chilled talking story(ies) about Hawaii, Lebanon, and Australia respectively. We covered the world- the universe actually- right here from 35.5570° N, 45.4359° E,  Iraqi Kurdistan- affectionately known as 'Slemani.'

I had been wanting to visit various museums here in the city so staycation offers a perfect opportunity to finally chill out and check out the city (most days I'm skooling myself about 3 books deep into grammar tagging- yes you know, breaking down sentences into its most basic parts... *le gran sigh*).

So, here's the breakdown of my day:

First off is the bank. It's taking a long time to get * be approved for * a bank account here. What place does one have to be approved to give an institution money? First I needed my Kurdish Residency card to apply. That done, it's been over 2 weeks, and...

Walking into the bank, after a light frisking- either physically or with just a 'you good' nod, depending on who's standing guard at the entry. Banks are serious biz here folks. I stared at the machine for a few moments- it clearly offers English directions as well, but I still stare. Every time. I sit and wait for that number to be called and pass my time people-watching.

Not much happens as I relay my story to the bank lady. I'm just wondering if my account opening has been approved. It has been 15 days after all. Phone calls made, information received (takes 18 days), feel I have made a major accomplishment in this task in that I have had confirmation on what I had previously suspected to know... A secondary tidbit was that as I was sitting there with the teller (yes, civilized- we sit here and transact), two colleagues walked in! I already know people out and about in the city! Major score for sure. I'm surely becoming localized.

I have finally succumbed to the quite normal ritual of having phone credits with internet access. Yea, I know. Why did it take so long. It certainly makes navigating around much easier... This means that I have to carry around my phone in my hand. Feels weird, but I finally get to where I'm headed anyway- after a slight detour (I didn't believe the GPS). Or, it was just a difficult building to locate. After all, I had just arrived at the Amna Sukara...

The Amna Sukara is the old HQ building of the Iraqi intelligence agency, the Mukhabarat. Under Saddam's (Hussein) rule, it was a most dark chapter.

Here's an article with a decent explanation of what happened inside its walls. I don't really want to even talk about my feelings experienced there. It's darkness and this vibe washes over you as you walk about, your mind simply blown while reading the words- words from the brochure, words written on the cell walls from detainees there... Fuck, it's fucking heavy. Then, you see some sort of beauty in some pictures, in the refugee camps or something. Something catches your eyes, the surrounding hills, the camps, the close-up shots of the people, and you sense a beauty within, and there's just this feeling of... I don't know. You have a sense of guilt for finding something beautiful from this capture of dark history. Art. Art is healing, bittersweet, ugly, beautiful- all at the same time and so there is this arrangement of fucked up emotions that consume... That's the best articulation of words that I can muster up in this moment. Yea, read the article.


Okay, now with some background, here is my eyefull:

the Hall of mirrors


something about irony and shit, coming out of the ammunition hall and all...
nothing like some fabric to put a smile back on my face though

I want...

So I'm deep in the beginning phase of my pencil skirt I'm knitting now so...

'Chemical Ali'; his desk...

After the darkness, heading out into the light

 Well, that certainly made for Somber Sunday. Wanting to readjust my kaleidoscope, I headed out on foot down to the Slemani Archaeology Museum.



Babylonian, Assyrian, Hurrian, Sassanian, Sumerian, Akkadian... Essentially it's a timeline extending back from pre-history up to the Abbasid Islamic Period. It's a sweet little museum packed full of history, and herstory. A volunteer came up to me, a local woman, and went around with me. She was clearly excited to talk about each piece. We had a great time, trying to negotiate words in both English and Kurdish. Heart swelling!

This was the perfect closure for my day of explorations! Yes, a successful Explorer's Club kinda day hitting up 2 museums. Satiated, I trotted off towards my favorite park, Bakhi Gshty. No sign of the South Indian and Nepali families that are there every Friday selling their homemade food, I trotted off towards the bazaar. I had one last item on my agenda- fabric cushions for my lanai (deck). I already knew where to go. BOOM. Fifteen minutes later, I'm cruising out with 2 sets of cushions in hand. I flop into a taxi and away we go.

Here's a little snippet of information on Sulaymaniyah, in case you're curious.


In other relevant news, spring is here. My 2 indicators went into high alert this past week: First, my coconut oil is at its most PERFECT consistency right now. Not solid yet not oil, it's just right... Last, no more comforter for sleeping. Yep, just a sheet and a smallish blanket- my new favorite from Yosemite!

Last, sound vibes this morning provided by Gabrielle. Ah memories flood from back on Maui in the day when the group pumping out beats and dancing in the jungle until sunrise. Good shit.


Peace from Iraqi Kurdistan,