Alan and Justyna

Justyna exclaims as she tears past her guests that mill below the Mexican paper flags, "This is the only song I can dance to!" She grabs Alan who is deep in conversation with his father at the end of the pew and pulls him to the front of the old church with the blue organ. Their friends play a dark melody from the altar-turned-stage as the two embrace in their dance. A child ballerina twirls around them. The guests gather to watch the one moment that might be described as traditional on their wonderful wedding day. Alan twirls Justyna in circles over and over as she strains to keep her balance. Without warning, Alan takes off running, apparently to make a lap around the church. He pulls a laughing Justyna behind him. Her steps are tiny and quick, well able to keep up even in heels.

It Felt Like What I Wanted

I wrote this piece during an exercise in a memoir writing class I took this year. Each week we would write vignettes based upon phrases offered by the teacher. In this case, the phrase wound up being the opening line.

It felt like what I wanted. The tang of sweat above his lip lingered on my tongue as he pulled away. My lips felt bruised from careless contact with his facial hair. "He probably only shaves like, once a week," I spoke with great authority to my girlfriends that evening.

It was the sort of midsummer's day that made you wish that you lived at the beach rather than in the suburbs. As the sun baked my shoulders I sucked down every last drop of the fountain cherry cokes we bought at the corner gas station, then crunched each piece of ice left.

I could taste the cherry coke on his breath, too. He was older, 16 to my 14 and I knew it was fate when I learned his birthday was four days after mine. He loped down the street next to me like he had a guitar slung across his back. His red hair was between stages - him wanting to grow it long, his mother wanting it cut. He was tall and thin but I could see the definition of his muscles as he grasped my elbow.

We sat under a maple tree on a stranger's lawn just blocks from the building where we both took ceramics. Each day prior to today I had meticulously chosen my outfit in anticipation of seeing him: babydoll dresses with leggings, always black but sometimes small flowers to be feminine. This day though after sleeping through the alarm I pulled on beat-up, cutoff jeans covered in bleach stains - the rock n' roll equivalent of tie dye - and sharpee drawings of Led Zeppelin symbols. Of course it was this day that he announced that we should leave class and go for a walk to escape the clammy room of clay.

As we strolled down the neighborhood streets he'd ask me questions and then laugh too hard at my answers. We would halt momentarily to allow the occasional breeze to tickle our skin and the leaves above. In one smooth move he sat down cross-legged. I followed suit and felt grass and tree roots under my legs. I couldn't take my eyes off of his freckles and his blue eyes.

He smiled as he kissed me. The butterflies that had been dusting my stomach walls lifted up through my lungs and out through my shoulder blades.

Years later I would see him at a show where his band was playing. He shined when he smiled as told his friends gathered at the bar "This is the girl who taught me to kiss." I rolled my eyes, nudged his shoulder and announced that I would buy the next round.

As I turned toward the bartender I smiled and closed my eyes for a second. He was the one who gave me what I longed for. My first kiss.

Written of course, for Mike.

For Emil

For Love and Loss, 11" x 14", acrylic, paper, and beads on canvas.

I painted this for my little brother Emil earlier this month for his birthday. I started out doing something totally different but this is what happened (perhaps he'll get the original thought for Christmas). The words on the scraps of paper that are sort of bursting out from the sides of the heart are from DeVotchKa's song "Dearly Departed". It's about the dark and light parts that come together to create deep love. I'm really happy with this piece which is a bit unusual for me. Most of the time I focus on some part that I couldn't get right and can't get past it. This one though turned out just right, and better than I had hoped.

Jiddu voted

Yesterday, my 90-something year old Iraqi grandfather voted. Jiddu was escorted to the polls by my great aunt who is in her late 70s herself. To help you visualize, the two of them are at the very center of this picture (click on it to make it bigger):



When I talked with Auntie Hadar on her birthday on Sunday, she told me how hard she had been working for the Obama campaign. "Every day! 9am to 9pm!" she told me with amazement-- though she assured me she took the day off for her birthday. She spoke proudly about "all the young people" (which likely includes people from age 10-49) who would arrive in buses from across Illinois every morning and then disperse to small towns in Wisconsin to door knock.

According to my sister Reem, after voting, Jiddu and Auntie Hadar went to Sam's Club to celebrate by eating samples. Apparently they were given lots of extra samples because like any skilled organizer, Auntie Hadar always carries lots of Obama buttons to give out.

I couldn't be more proud!

Just Lovely!

I had a wonderful birthday week and I am so grateful. It was kicked off by a visit from my parents to Atlanta. We had a weekend filled with beautiful flowers, delicious food, great companionship and even a visit to the Aquarium. My parents are my heroes; I got this great slice of time, lovely natural picture of them at the Botanical Gardens:



Mom took this slice of time of me and Eek in the afternoon sun:



My birthday itself was warm and lovely. My day started with two different bunches of flowers; one was sent by Sandy and the others by Reem and Emil. My siblings note referenced one of my all-time favorite Simpson's songs:



Later that evening, I was surrounded by friends. Mohammad called from the West Bank. Ela, Mica, Sandy, Carrie, Marie and Kirsten came over to my house and we drank too much champagne. Then we went to Solstice Cafe for dinner -- lovely Shelley and Becky joined us there. Our soundtrack was music by my Atlanta favorite DJ Swivel. He indulged me with some Arabic music mixed in.

The strawberry on top of this wonderful evening was that Mica made me my favorite, a beautiful pink cake (not too unlike the one I made her in July). Yes, you counted right- 33 candles - one for good luck of course!:



Thank you all for helping me kick off year 32 with love, laughter and hope!

Thank You for Being a Friend

Haha now you're gonna have the theme song to the Golden Girls in your head! My work here is done. My fortune cookie reminded me to:



Thank you in particular to my beautiful girlfriends who have been so attentive and caring and have literally showered me in flowers (and Poison tickets) over the last couple weeks. Beautiful perfect flowers that let me know in no uncertain terms that I am most defintely loved.









Signs that you are loved by your sister include the most delicious dark chocolates on earth:



And the most perfect ridiculous shark toy a girl could ever ask for:

Shukran Jazeelan!

A Last Week of Firsts

In this last week with my love, we felt inspired to do things that we always talked about doing together but never got around to.

He never had a root beer float before, so I made one for him and made sure he saw the weird way it bubbles. He thought it tasted weird at first but by the end of the giant mug he said he wanted more tomorrow. "Bidi camaan."

He came with me to get a manicure and pedicure. While a regular activity for me, it was amazing for him. I had to look away because I couldn't stop laughing at him sitting in the spa pedicure chair, remote for the massage chair in one hand, grinning huge and staring wide-eyed at the woman working on his feet. I'd hear him say to himself in wonder, "Another step? Another tool? Oh my god," then he'd lay his head back and close his eyes. Priceless. Hilarious.



He took me to the Georgia Aquarium, a place two minutes from my office that I have never gone to, and I really love fish! I touched a shark there for the first time ever. We took so many beautiful pictures.



While out for dinner, one day I insisted that he order a shrimp dish, on another he encouraged me to order the pork dish that I really wanted. With my shellfish allergy and him being Muslim, we have always avoided both when around each other.

He bought me my first pair of Crocs. He knew I wanted them, and I think also knew that I would never buy them for myself for fear of my sister's relentless mocking of how ugly they are. He also told me repeatedly how cute they looked on me.



This was also the first time that we lived together- albeit for a short time, just a week. It was lovely to be together in this way, and I hope that my presence helped calm him during the unbelievably anxiety-filled days before moving to the other side of the world. We enjoyed lovely lavish lunches side by side.



This week was also filled with constant awareness of "lasts", a very strange reality in a relationship that has spanned nearly six years. The last time we were at certain restaurants, the last time we listened to certain songs, the last time I felt his body through his clothes as we held each other as we said goodbye at the airport.

But as Jill pointed out, this week is not the first time we have said goodbye forever to each other. However this post is the last time I will offer any hope for my future that includes him as a partner.

Goodbye, my love. I will miss you deeply.

Why He is Dear to My Heart

Because he brought me a gift of a home-made terrarium to house the dead butterfly I found a week before. I found it on the ground outside his apartment when I was leaving to go to work; I have always wanted a real butterfly and this one was in perfect condition. He looked at me like I was a crazy person when I asked him to keep it for me until I could figure out what to do with it, but then he showed up at my house with it preserved in a glass votive, legs held still by drops of wax, sealed from the world with plastic wrap.



Because when I was sad, he wrote me a bedtime story about the basil plant he rescued from the trash and is nursing back to life.



Because when happily and proudly flashing a victory sign after winning Scrabble, he looks like a grown up Palestinian boy (which of course he is), grinning at a reporter's camera. How I will miss those moments when his youthful spirit shines through and mischief glints in his eye.

Happy Dreams

I slept well last night and had two really good dreams that I remember. The first was that we were having a party in Ireland- all my family was there. We were laughing, the weather was beautiful, we were on Burke Street. Out of the blue Mohammad showed up and surprised me- I couldn't believe he was there. He stayed for the night and my brother had an extra toothbrush that he gave him.

I'm sure this dream happened because Mohammad did surprise me yesterday by showing up unexpected to out impromptu celebration that we were not heading to the prison in Jackson, GA. I saw the car pull in and saw dark hair and sunglasses and said to Mica "A really hot guy just got here." Then I realized it was him and quickly applied blueberry-flavored lipgloss on my smile.

In the second dream, my sister, brother and I were hanging out with my Irish Grandmother, who we lovingly called Nanny. We were in Nanny's bedroom but it was different than it was in real life. There was a warm light, like almost like looking through a red filter on a camera. There was an old wooden stereo in this room that could play three records at a time. She had a table lavishly covered in cakes and cookies and velvet bows. Nanny told us that this was where the Snake lived, but that we shouldn't be frightened. I felt repulsed at first when I saw it slithering but then she squeezed my hand. I leaned my head on the scratchy fabric of her dress- at that point I was my little girl height.

I don't remember much else about the dream, just that it was so lovely to get to spend time with Nanny again. And also we drove around in a car that was made out of a grand piano.

For Rebecca, and her Unicorn

I made this box for my beautiful friends Rebecca and Garrett, the most in-love people I have the wonderful fortune of knowing, in honor of their wedding this past weekend. (There was even a Blah Girl guest!) She tells the lovely story of their beginnings in her post In Celebration of the Magic and Reality of Unicorns:

I suppose Unicorns don't really exist. The mythology is just that-- a myth. Or perhaps, they are real. Maybe I am just lucky enough to live in a magical world inhabited by one.

Tomatoes, Cheese, Love from Afar

I'm sitting on my bed eating breakfast, thinking of my favorite friend. I'm working at home because I have a lot of writing to do and have a hard time focusing at my office.

But the important part is that I'm eating a mix of feta cheese, tomatoes, olive oil, and mint that he makes for me for breakfast. One of the many delicious wonderful magical things he has brought into my life. I scoop the mixture up with fresh-baked wheat pita bread that he brought me the other day from the Arabic bakery in the suburbs.

And when I think of him, my darling friend, going through a very real personal hell right now, my heart swells and my eyes start flowing and I try to send love far far east to the home in which he just landed and is likely arriving and being greeted by his loved ones, minus one very important loved one.

And I want to do something to help to make it better to take the pain away but there are no more plush toys or shampoo or strollers left to buy, no hands or shoulders to squeeze, no bodies to spoon into.

You are far away surrounded by loved ones who can do these things for you now and you will return that love.

Reem and Emil

My favorites in the world, in Madison for a 29th Birthday.

Reality TV gets a little too real OR Me + Bret = 4Ever

I don't want to admit it but I have to because its just too good: last night I dreamt that I was competing for Bret Michaels' affection on Rock of Love. It wasn't just one dream either- I tried to use my womanly wiles to lure Bret in two separate dreams last night! Mica was also competing in the first dream, and wearing a fabulous tan lace kinda army looking dress- it doesn't sound cute but I promise it was super cute. And even though we were technically against each other I was still all "hos over bros, yo". The second dream was all me on my own with all the typical blondy blonds that are on the show.

In the dream, Bret and I stepped away from the group for our "one on one" time and I realized at this point that I actually had to think of something to say that would impress him and make him want to keep me around. OH the stress! My mind raced, should I tell him about my work and the terrible outrage that the criminal injustice system wages against poor people and people of color? Should I charm him with my natural hilarity and stories about my family? Should I ask him my old reliable first date question of what-are-your-top-five-favorite-live-concerts-you've-ever-seen?

I settled on telling him a true story about how he and Poison made all the difference in my world after one of the hardest weekends of my life. Some serious shit, real trauma, went down in my life and as a result, I was going to skip the Poison show in Atlanta even though I had been looking forward to it for months. At the last moment, I decided to buck up and go, and Mica jumped in her car to pick me up. The show was totally chill and perfect. About 50 steps from the car I look down and there's a redtail hawk tail feather on the ground in front of me. I knew I made the right decision then.

My Poison boys were just wonderful- working the stage and performing like hell. Bret and Bobby did the backwards kick thing in sync and CC did an electric guitar and piano version of Ray Charles' "Georgia". They played every song I wanted to hear. And Mica threw her first devil horns and I nearly cried with joy! (At this point Mica was back in the 2nd dream because I was trying to make sure Bret knew that she was a great contender for his love too.)

So after telling him about this day, I thanked Bret for the many many times he and his band and his music were like salve on my wounds, from times when I was 14 years old through my current ripe old age of 31. And he was sweet and supportive and humble and I knew this was the beginning of the love of my life. That I would get a backstage pass that night at elimination. That we would be deliriously happy and rock the eff out forever and ever. Me and Bret FOREVER. Best dream ever! But I probably need to chill on the old reality television for a minute.

Fairy Godmothers and Godfathers

Sometimes I'm amazed at the incredible fortune I've had in my life. In particular, I'm amazed at some of the most incredible people I've been so lucky to know and call my friends.

Like Steve and Charlotta. Sitting in their home last night, feeling the warmth, history and character of all they are. Charlotta, the most loyal and dear friend you could ever dream of having- her love like a quilt, complicated and careful, sewn strong to keep you warm and safe against all odds. And Steve, the one who took a chance on an insecure 23 year old and opened doors in my world that I never dreamed possible. When I think about him in his element, particularly in the US Supreme Court, it brings tears of pride to my eyes and incredible humility to my heart. I still blush when I receive his messages of praise. I am hesitant to contemplate my sadness of the them ultimately leaving Atlanta.

And Sandy and Jack. Sandy's fearlessness and tenacity for all we believe in- unrelenting courage despite everything in opposition. Her strength, not yielding as she takes hit after hit so publicly from those who don't know yet that we are right. And Jack, whose experiences surpass my imagination who described to me tonight how they passed the law that made it illegal to execute mentally retarded people so many years ago. As he spoke of the conservative legislator who confessed that he had a challenged niece who would do anything anyone told her to do, he clenched his chest and tears crept up in his voice.

I am so moved by you all; I am so lucky.

I don't know what I did, but I am confident that I did something right to have these people, these opportunities in my world. I thank my lucky stars and fairy godmothers. And then I remember that two of my fairy godmothers are in fact, Charlotta and Sandy.

Happy Birthday Habibi

January 8, 2008 - Two Urban Licks

2007 in Photos

Taking a cue from Audacity, here is the 2007 review in photos.

January: The winter sky on the drive from Chicago back to Atlanta. I rode in the backseat and Reem and her BFF Sarah were my chauffeurs for the longest hitchhike in history.

February: Flying into Chicagoland

March: Springtime appears in Atlanta with the dogwoods blooming at Oakland Cemetery during my parents' visit.

April: The very first Blah Girl picture. Driving documentation begins.

May: Rain, wind, 800 cocktails, Irish music, kisses, bliss, 2 am in Savannah.

June: Spiderweb Houseleek on a trip with Dad to the Chicago Botanic Gardens.

June: Eek gets shaved and looks like an old man

July: Jamaican Sunset for Ela's birthday

July: Mica's Metalsome birthday

August: Troy Davis gets a Stay of Execution. We hold a press conference featuring exonorees Gary Drinkard, Darryl Hunt and survivor Jennifer Thomas Canino


September: Dad and I share another birthday party. Note the bite already taken out of the front of the delicious coconut cake.

October: Greatest Halloween party in Atlanta made perfect by the sister and brother plus 4 cousins.

November: Mom, Reem and I go back to Ireland.

December: Steve Bright argues Snyder v. Louisiana in the US Supreme Court. I marvel and choke back tears as he makes friends of Justices Scalia and Alito. One of the most amazing experiences of my life.

December: Christmas at the Hodi's with the Clan

Leaving me in pieces

There’s a moment from Christmas Eve that keeps replaying in my mind. It was late, almost 2 am, and my family was awake playing a game that Reem had gotten for us.

I had been laughing and enjoying the time with my most-loved, but I started feeling pretty terrible. Just the previous day, I had slipped on ice and cracked a bone in my elbow. I laid back on the floor, propping my head up on the edge of the couch. I stopped engaging in the game’s debate, simply tossing in my contribution on the table and laying back down.

We finished up the game. As they all started moving I found myself paralyzed and tears become pools in my eyes. I was in a lot of pain, generally frustrated, and codeine sickness was creeping through my belly. Words of concern came from my parents; support was abundant, but it just made the tears come faster. My dad helped me stand up and I tried pulling myself together to little avail.

It was that moment that my brother Emil turned back slightly from walking out of the room and expressed sympathy asking simply, “Oh, Sara! Do you need a hug?”

Feeling so vulnerable, I didn’t even meet his eyes. The moment passed quickly and when I didn’t respond he continued walking out.

It was exactly what I needed and wanted, not to mention an unusual expression of love from my brother. We just don’t usually connect like this.

A couple weeks later now, I replay it over and over in my mind. Instead of letting my eyes drop and tears fall on my pajamas, I look up into his eyes and allow myself to be enveloped by his 6’4” body. This time it’s his shirt that absorbs my tears.

Salmon in the City

16 x 20, acrylic and glitter, Freedom Parkway skyline view of Atlanta. One of the very first salmon paintings, remains a favorite. Now a gift for Hank who loves it the most.

Why Our Dad is the Greatest

Priceless moments from this year's Thanksgiving, featuring our father.

1) Pretending to play guitar while we played Guitar Hero III. Not just air guitar, he insisted on having a prop. P.S. Emil never changed out of his pajamas that day.

2) Playing dress-up in a jacket that he bought in London more than 30 years ago (he's so skinny!), a Panama Jack hat given to him by a patient and a dishdasha of course. All items "found" in the storage room which he would emerge from after donning each new piece proudly and demand "What do you think? Don't I look great?"

3) Singing "That's Amore" on the karaoke video game (as a shirtless/shoeless black man no less) and dancing all the while. This was repeated the following day as duets with my mother to "I Left My Heart in San Francisco", "I've had the Time of My Life", and an encore performance his Dean Martin greatest hit.

Lots of love to Dad!

Cold November Rain

Lovely it is to wake in the arms of my lover. Outside the cold November rain rolls; inside we are warm in matching white tank tops under the weight of the down quilt. I can smell coriander, apricots and lavender on our skin.