My Marrakesh

Marrakech: and a pretty *ugly* tale

She was a girl who flouted classic beauty. Indeed, she was what the French might call jolie-laide. She had her own style, her own mannerisms, her own odd quirks. While others followed trends, her look was dictated only by her moods -- sometimes subdued, sometimes flamboyant. An average day might require several wardrobe changes.  She managed to stand out and yet blend in wherever she went.  She had an uncanny ability to fit in.

She was, in short, unforgettable.

 
Camelia, the newest resident at Peacock Pavilions. 5 inches long.  We’re all mesmerized….

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PS Take a peek at my new stock of cozy Moroccan carpets.  The perfect Christmas present to yourself?

Marrakech and Kashmir: and a tale of dreams and patience

Here’s the thing:  making your dreams come true isn't a speedy process.  In fact, I’ve devised a mathematical equation to represent this accurately.

 

Estimated time necessary to make dream come true + time to deal with obstacles you never thought of  + time to make the extra money that you didn’t realize you needed – bouts of good fortune that arrive out of nowhere – compromises you make along the way that weren’t at the heart of the dream anyway = Real time to make dream come true

 

Do you follow?  If not, let me put it in other words:  Making dreams come true takes more time than you think.

 

So patience, yes, patience, is a highly desirable trait.  It turns out that it’s just what your grandmother told you (or mine did, anyway).

 

Recently, I had an epiphany along these lines watching the pashmina weavers of Kashmir.  You see, they understand intrinsically that beautiful things (much like beautiful dreams) can’t be hurried.  Because ultimately, it’s all about you and the loom, or rather, you and the dream -- the quality of the product depends on the quality of the design, the materials, the effort (and dare I say, the love) you put into it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

(My grandmother would have nodded her head approvingly.) 

Marrkech; and a Zid Zid Kids tale of ghosts and goblins.....

Oh, I know it's late.  But it's taken me a few days to recover enough to tell the frightening tale...

The day had turned into night by the time we climbed in the car.  We were  traveling across Marrakech to the city's industrial zone.  It was rumored that ghouls were gathering at the new showroom of Zid Zid Kids.  The designer owners had seemed nice enough when we had gotten together in the past but apparently..........they had hidden a darker side..........

At the door Darth Vader greeted us in French and motioned us in with his light saber.

Black widows hung from the ceiling.  But that was just the beginning....

Inside.......a macabre setting awaited us...

 The dead had arisen from the grave, you see....

 
and told ghostly stories to anyone who would dare listen.... 
including deathly pale brides sucking arsenic-flavored lollipops...

 
At the bar a haunted pumpkin asked me if I would care for a Bloody Mary...

And the devil tried to talk me into selling my soul "for the right price"....

I watched in horror as the designer hostess busily supervised.....

 
....children bobbing for poisonous apples....

 
Oh, we barely escaped with our lives....

Thankfully, Darth Vader was off duty when we made a run for the car.....

 

PS Desperately seeking someone traveling from the US to Marrakech during November.  Please let me know!  Thank you:-)
 

Marrakech: and a tale of Oh baby love, my baby love.....

I want one.

I want one so badly that for a moment..... I actually think I have one. Then I blink and shake myself out of it. 

Because the fact is...that I don't have one.  Sadly, sadly, no.

But I can't forget.

That look when you come home.

That sweet baby smell.

Those dark glossy eyes.

That softest baby belly.

Oh! Nestled in, sleeping quietly beside you. 

I see one. 

And I want to scoop it up and run fast, fast away. Before the mother catches me.......