Where Have I Been, Where Am I Going

The past few days have been hectic, baffling, and exciting for me. I have not taken the time to write because so much has been going on, plus I decided to downgrade my amount of writing here. Recently I received the stimulus to finally go after my passion less here on the blogosphere and more in the privacy of spiral notebooks and Microsoft Word. After years of just dreaming about it, I am going to pursue my dream of writing a book and doing freelance writing. I began my memoir 15 years ago, but I was not mature enough then or had overcome some of life's difficulties to really present a complete and interesting portrayal of my life to fill a book. I had been inspired to take on such an endeavor of writing a memoir after reading the unique and inspiring Maya Angelou's series of autobiographies of her life. Nevertheless, I just was not ready.

I began this blog on November 22 after returning from Turkey less than 2 months before. I was reeling from so much disappointment. I had been paid far less than I had been promised by the family who had hired me as a live-in English tutor to their unruly daughter. I had languished for close to 2 months in a new affluent development on the outskirts of Istanbul with these people who saw me more as a family member and just ignored my calls to study. They really did not want a professional around. The Ottoman Turks were fond of and fascinated by blacks and this fondness still exits in Turkey in a number of quarters. But I will not go on with this. I have diverted myself from what I was going to present in this post.

After so many ups and down and peace and quiet, I began this blog. In a short time I have been honored to have two published authors making comments here. When I did the post Quest For Romance Ended in Murder, two authors Ellen R. Sheeley who wrote Reclaiming Honor in Jordan: A National Public Opinion Survey on "Honor" Killings and
Karen Tintori who has written Unto the Daughters a book about an honor killing which actually occurred her family nearly a century ago both of these authors made comments which have graced my effort here. I was intensely elated when I discovered both. I found Ms. Tintori's comment last week while bored, down, and preoccupied I scrolled back to my honor killing post. Ms. Tintori had left her comment almost two weeks after the post, so I might have never discovered it because it had moved from the main page of my blog. I had thought about writing to Ms. Sheeley shortly after I saw her comment, but I got too busy and later lost courage. I did not know how to approach her at the time with my question of what suggestions could she give me on what to do to become a published writer. When I discovered Ms. Tintori's comments I was spurred on to write her because at the time I felt a little world weary. I wrote her last week and last night she wrote back to me. This morning on firing up the internet and checking my e-mail, I received this very warm letter of encouragement which other aspiring writers should read. I hope the author does not mind I am sharing this.

Dear Sincerae,

I am thrilled to learn that my comment on your blog lifted your spirits. I was impressed not only with your blog post, but by the fact that you invited participation by asking those who visited to lend their voices to the discussion. It was a friendly, and engaging way to elicit comments. It was "hey, don't just run in and out of my house, stay and converse with me." I was impressed by that.

If you itch and burn to write every minute you are awake, concentrate on it. Focus on the book you want to write, and don't divert all that energy to the blogs -- you know? We have only so much creative juice in a day, so give the greater part of it to the book, and the rest to the blog. You are right in your comment that the blog is a way to perfect the craft of writing. Anything you write makes you a better writer as you think about words, sentences, structure.

If you haven't read Writers Market 2008, from Writers Digest Books, go buy it or borrow it from your library. It is filled with markets for writing -- from which publisher buys what kind of book, to which magazines buy, to whom to pitch and how they want the query sent. It is the bible of getting published. Format, substance, how to find an agent, etc., it's all there. And Writers Digest updates the book annually, so I'm thinking 2008 is the most current edition.

If you have some short pieces to sell to magazines, etc., and can do that while working on a book, great. It will add to your resume and be a hook for an editor. I have only done some freelance journalism articles locally, and eight books.

Keep writing, keep sending stuff out and lots of good luck to you and many blessings.

It is obvious you have overcome a lot in your life, and so I know you are a person who isn't dissuaded easily and doesn't give up. All the better to have those attributes if you want to be a published writer. There's a lot of rejection sometimes before that one editor says "yes," but those who stick it out and have some talent will succeed.

God bless and good luck! Keep writing.

All my best,
Karen

This e-mail made my day before it barely began. I was thrilled, honored, and uplifted. Today was a holiday for me because it was a planning day for the regular district's teachers, and I am only a substitute teacher, rather like an itinerant teacher for those outside the US who are not familiar with the term. I immediately decided to take Ms. Tintori's advice and get a copy of Writer's Market 2008, a massive tome of articles of how to get into the writing business and listings of hundreds of places to send your work from publishing houses and magazines to greeting card companies. Years ago I had bought a copy of Writer's Market, but my readiness to be a writer was not there. Since that time I have had articles and letters to the editor published in newspapers in my town, but I just did not have the courage to branch out. I was not ready no matter how much I dreamed and dreamed. Blogging has actually gotten me in shape to write regularly, so in the right hands and for the right reasons it is not a trivial exercise.

This afterrnoon I bought the 2008 edition of Writer's Market. I have a customer membership with the store where I made the purchase, so this morning to my good financial fortune I received in my e-mail a 40% off coupon from them and I was able to use it towards the purchase of my volume of Writer's Market.

Other excitement that has cropped up is I was given another job in the school district as an assistant to the afterschool program director which will pay more then my current position. Now I just have to find a school that needs me. Hopefully tomorrow I will.

Like my mother says, "Turkey will always be a part of your life. You will not escape the Turks." Saturday night when I called the time of day service, which is a recorded message offered by a local bank giving the time and the weather our house phone was not working, so I decided to use my cell phone. Someone had left a message on Friday and Saturday afternoons on my voicemail. I usually keep my phone off or just on vibrate, so it might have been days before I checked if the house phone had not been out. Shocker of shockers it was a former Turkish friend in distress. I will not put her name here, but she had jumped up on a humbug, like my mom likes to say, and married some guy here. I had written her a letter of invitation last summer even though she had developed a very rude and cocky attitude towards me. I will not put all the details here, but suffice it to say, she has been thoroughly humbled since she found out that one cannot get instant US citizenship by just marrying an American citizen. She has also learned that getting a job in her profession is not likely to happen either without a green card. She has learned that it all is a long uncertain process especially in post 9/11 America.

Yesterday and last night when I spoke to her, she sounded listless, broken, and slightly frighten. I have no idea who this guy is that she has gotten connected with. Gone are the snide, cocky, arrogant, know-it-all, rude, and insulting remarks. She has learned that Hollywood movies and her own dreams do not always mesh with reality. It is a sad story really, the complete details of which I still do not know every thing about. The irony of her situation can be seen in her lack of access to a phone. In Turkey she had 2 cellphones. Here she really does not have one except the one her husband uses and which he takes sometimes with him to work leaving her without access to a phone.

It is a very different ballgame here from in Turkey where it was easier for me to make friends with people there. I heard it once said that it is easier to go to the moon than to get to know your neighbors across the street in America. I guess she sees the difference. Families are not as close knit in the states as in Turkey.

My former friend has begged me to come and see her and stay a couple of days. She said she calls friends in Turkey, so I wonder does her husband not allow her to have the phone at times. I called her this morning just like she asked me too, but there was no answer and the voicemail said the number was not available. She told me last night that if her husband did not leave the phone with her to leave a message with him. I left a message on the voicemail, but she never called me. When I she told me yesterday to call back, her husband sounded a little angry and hostile when I asked for her, answering the phone with not a "hello" but with, "May I help you!" When she came to the phone she sounded listless and a littled scared and told me that she had to do yard work. She told me she would call me back in about 2 hours, but it was 5 hours later before I heard from her again.

Abuse is a problem for women everywhere, so I just hope and pray she has not gotten herself in a terrible situation where this man is controlling, terrorizing, and abusing her. I just wish I had not written the letter of invitation for her to get a visa. I sent that letter to very irresponsible, immature, and uninformed hands.

This poor young woman was very obsessed with getting her a black husband, and I know how some black men are abusive, controlling, and very uncaring about anything but their own selfish needs. My father was never verbally or physically abusive to my mother, but he never allowed her to control her finances and more recently when she sold some property, he scorned both her and my advise about investing it. He took most of it and spent it all to pay off his debts. I am a very forgiving person, so I am here again for this young woman who had been my colleague and friend, but who ruined our friendship by her arrogance. I fear for her, but I am powerless.

So I am taking Ms. Tintori's advise, and I will not be posting here as frequently. I am not putting myself on a definite schedule, but I will say that I will be writing here from 1 to 2 days a week. From afar I am trying to help a responsible Turkish friend who loves me like a sister and I am also being morally supportive of my Turkish boyfriend who says he is going back to Istanbul after taking care of his sick mother for over a year in his home town of Edirne near the Greek and Bulgarian border. An American friend of mine who hired me there last year to work in the language school where he was once one of the managers has offered my boyfriend a place to stay until he can get back on his feet. My Turk with the reddish brown hair and blue gray eyes has expressed a desire to come here and meet my family, but that will be in the far future, if ever.

Therefore much is going on. I will be changing jobs and taking on more responsibilities once I can find a school here that needs me for the position the school board has hired me for. I have been spending more time reading again, and I must get myself into the mood and mode to do all the things Ms. Tintori told me to do.

Sometimes I run across very good blogs that were abandoned without any comment on why. Then I see blogs that are an insult to the blogosphere and classy and sophisticated bloggers everywhere that should be abandoned.

I am not abandoning this blog that I take pride in, but I will be spending less time here . Nevertheless, I will continue to offer my usual eclectic mix once or twice a week when I have time.

Ciao for now:)

The Legend of St. Valentine

The Valentine's Day that we celebrate today concerning Romantic love came about probably in the late Middle Ages. This day of Romance has only an ounce of similarity to the original meaning of who Saint or Saints Valentine was or were. One thing is known is that Valentine or Valentinus was the name of several Christian saints martyred in ancient Rome.

I have an old Hallmark Valentine card with the story of one of these martyrs. Since I do not have time to put the story into my own words, I will begin it below from a website I found it on. This is the exact same version word for word of the story of St. Valentine that is on my card.

Story of St. Valentine

"The story of Valentine's Day begins in the third century with an oppressive Roman emperor and a humble Christian Martyr. The emperor was Claudius II. The Christian was Valentinus.
Claudius had ordered all Romans to worship twelve gods, and had made it a crime punishable by death to associate with Christians. But Valentinus was dedicated to the ideals of Christ; not even the threat of death could keep him from practicing his beliefs. He was arrested and imprisoned.

(continue)

King Ludwig II and My Two Favorite Castles

19th century/Basje posted on her delightfully informative blog on the Victoria Era an article today about a German king whom some call "Mad King Ludwig." If the term "mad" or "insane" are too harsh for him, Ludwig II of the Bavaria (1845-1886) was certainly an eccentric and a Romantic. He commissioned several fairy tale like castles, but the most famous of them all is Neuschwanstein Castle which is my first favorite castle in the world. The official website for the castle can be visited here.

Ludwig was inspired to build Neuschwanstein because of his friendship with the composer Richard Wagner.

My second favorite castle is the Alcazar or Segovia Castle in Segovia, Spain.

The Alcazar was first built during Moorish times. Over the centuries it was repeatedly renovated. Throughout the Middle Ages it was the favorite residence of the rulers of Castile. It was also one of the key fortresses in the defense of the region. One of the last major renovations was done during the reign of Philip II.

(As an aside, I am trying to finish a rather bland biography of the life of this king. The book is written by Henry Kamen who presents a different portrait of the king than the usual one of the cold-blooded, religious fanatic making human torches of heretics whereever he was present. The traditional Philip that has come down to us is the one more recently presented in the movie Elizabeth: The Golden Age starring Cate Blanchette and the Spanish actor Jordi Molla as Philip. What is wrong with Kamen's book is that it speaks too much about King Philip's administrative duties, particularly about his always being flooded with paper work. Otherwise, I have read worse. Still this one has been a slow go.)

Neuschwanstein and the Alcazar are in my opinion examples of perfect castles. Both are built on high, which give them an otherworldly affect. Both look like they came straight out of a fairytale. I hope that I can eventually visit both castles one day.

Three Coliseums

The University of Georgia where I did both my undergraduate and graduate studies periodically sends me travel brochures of their annual trips around the world. The trips are always to exotic and beautiful locations dripping with Romance and history. Two years ago, I received a brochure that stunned me. On it was a photo of a structure that the average person is probably not aware of. Most everyone has heard of and seen photos of the coliseum in Rome, famous for its gladiatorial fights and notorious for the martyrdom of many early Christians. I was stunned to see on a brochure about a trip to Croatia that there is another ancient coliseum still in existence which is in better condition than the one in Rome. This second coliseum is located in the city of Pula and can be seen here.


Even in my mundane southern town, there is also a coliseum on the campus of my old university. Here is an old post card of it. It can be said that I graduated from high school in a coliseum because the building below is where I and my 12th grade classmates gathered on evening in early June to end one phase of our lives and to begin another.

To Die So Young A Hero

Today fellow blogger Hans posted a story about a Turkish Muslim who will be playing Anne Frank in a stage production of The Diary of Anne Frank.

Besides having read Anne Frank's diary in middle school, I have become familiar in more latter years of a Jewish diarist and poet whose writing was equally if not more powerful than Anne Frank's masterpiece. The creator of this other great Holocaust document was Hannah Senesh (1921-1944). In fact, I am an even greater fan of Senesh's diary than I am of Frank's because of its' maturity and depth. More about Hannah and her poetry can be read here.

My most favorite of all her poems is this one.

Walk To Caesaerea

God---may there be no end
to sea, to sand,
water's splash,
lightning's flash,
the prayer of man

A Turkish Armenian Romantic Is Cut Down Too Soon

A year ago I was in Turkey when a tragically grave event happened the significance, of which I was to slowly come to understand. A journalist was killed on the streets of Istanbul. His name was Hrant Dink. The man, his ideals, and some of his writings can be read here. I saw the news reports of his murder on television at work, but it really did not mean very much to me at the time. One of my colleagues who was a young teacher from Britain was a little concerned about any unrest that might possibly occur. He apparently knew who this journalist was who was cut down by a bullet outside his office.

Hrant Dink was one of the most prominent figures of the Armenian community in Turkey. His vision was as brilliant, correct, and beautiful as Martin Luther King's. Like Dr. King, he was gunned down by a fanatic. For decades Turkey has been dealing with demons both self-imposed and imposed from without. One of its' biggest demons is the controversy over the Armenian Genocide which occurred in 1915. The events are well documented from a number of sources, not just Armenians but from westerners, including American missionaries and even Arab eyewitnesses. This is an extremely thorny subject in Turkey which can get you prosecuted under the infamous Article 301 of the Turkish penal code. Dink's belief in the Genocide is what got him murdered in the end.

Being American and with our lack of media coverage of many important figures outside our borders, I had never heard of Hrant Dink until his death. I was very familiar with the topic of the Armenian Genocide, however. Since 2003 when I first traveled to Turkey, I had developed a love and an identification with the Turkish people. I felt, how could it be possible that such nice, hospitable people could be some of the offspring of barbarous murderers? Many Turkish people are grappling with the issue too of what I now believe happened in their history. I do not blame the current generation for what happened, but I blame those in the current generation who cry out repeatedly that Turkey is always the innocent victim, that Turkish history is stainless and totally glorious, and that Turkey's only issues is the racism it is subjected to from outside. I have people whom I care about in Turkey, TURKISH people. I do NOT want Turkey to fall apart.

When Dink was killed, I received a text message from my Turkish boyfriend, "I sad because they killed Dink." (sic) At the time, I wondered, "Who the heck is Dink?" My knowledge of him began to grow on the day of his funeral. I had to cross one of Istanbul's main streets in the heart of the city on my way to work. That day, I saw something I had only witnessed on news reports on TV. There were hundreds of armed and shielded riot police, busloads of more and more were coming in, and personnel carriers with water cannon were all creeping down that wide street. Thankfully, Dink's funeral turned out peaceful, but the scars remain one year later.

Turkey is not a free society. There are unwritten codes of conduct that people know and adhere to even though places like Istanbul seem slightly more European than Middle Eastern.

One thing that will always live with me are the beggars I saw in the streets of Istanbul day after day. I gave them money whenever I could. When I did not, I feel terribly guilty and uncaring.

Though some try to cover up Turkey's problems, I have friends who talk in general terms about the difficulty of living that country. I feel so powerless and bad for them, and from my end I try to do what I can, but it is not enough for them, the beggars, the system that is keeping Turkey only half alive and looking more and more like another place with less and less of a bright future.

One year after the murder of Hrant Dink, Turkey is still reeling as this article on BBC News online shows.

Like my Turkish boyfriend wrote me in a recent e-mail, "You know Turkey now." I do.

Africa's Tragic Romantic: Bessie Head

"Love is so powerful, it's like unseen flowers under your feet as you walk"
----Bessie Head

It is my desire that this blog will never become stale in its' subject matter, and even though my blog has a theme, there is a world of Romance out there both past and present to be written about.

Ardent's latest blog entry got me to thinking about my very first international sojourn, as a Peace Corps volunteer in the African nation of Botswana. African nations south of the Sahara get such bad press. It is always about disease, war, poverty, or genocide. There is little mention of the good of the extraordinary. The most recent case of bad news are the elections in Kenya. It has hit home with one of my neighbors, because presently he is hosting a student in his home who is Kenyan.

Botswana is one of the richest countries in Africa because of its' diamond resources. It does not get much attention because the people are quiet and peaceful with their neighbors. Also there are not a conglomeration of tribes there, so no tribal problems. The Batswana are very tolerant. I used to silently laugh when some Batswana would tell me, "Botswana is not true Africa. You have to got to West Africa, to see true Africa."

I was in Botswana when apartheid was running its' course in neighboring South Africa. In fact, depending on where I was, I sometimes lived as close as 15 miles from the South African border. As a non-white person I went to South Africa only once, because the climate there was very tense and even some British friends of mine who went were harassed by white South African soldiers.

There were a number of people both black and white whom the Batswana like to talk about when I was there. One of them was a person they held in high regard, the writer, Bessie Head. Bessie Head is one of Africa's greatest authors, dying at age 49 just when she was about to come into her own and get the recognition she deserved. Her life was short, difficult, lonely, and tragic. Nevertheless, out of her hardship, she birthed writing of get power and sometimes disturbing beauty.

Bessie Head was the daughter of a white South mother of patrician background and a black South African father who was a stable hand to her mother's family. The relationship was totally illicit because it broke apartheid laws which applied more to white women and black men than to white men and black women. According to my Batswana students and friends who related Head's story to me, when Bessie Head's white grandparents learned that their daughter was pregnant by their black stable hand, they had her committed to an insane asylum. There Bessie Head was born in 1937. Life was tough from the beginning. Of course, her mother's family did not want her, and neither did her father's family. Therefore, Bessie was placed in an orphanage where she grew up.

Having showed strong intelligence, Bessie went to school to become a teacher. Later she married a journalist and had a son, but she eventually became a divorcee.

Unable to tolerate life under apartheid, Bessie Head went to neighboring Botswana where she became a refugee. Even in Botswana life was hard, and Head lived in extreme poverty. She ended up in the village of Serowe, one of Botswana's most famous villages one reason of which is because it is the home of Botswana's first president, Sir Seretse Khama, another person common on the lips of many Batswana. In Botswana, Head found her calling and began writing. Also in the process she became an alcoholic and died of hepatitis in 1986.

Bessie Head's work is hard to classify under one genre. Unlike many African writer's her work is not very political. Her novels tend to be semi-autobiographical, with Biblical and classical imagery. She was also influenced by D. H. Lawrence.

Here can be seen an online project by students at the University of Botswana (which was spic and span and new when I visited it) concerning Bessie Head.

Kenize Mourad: A Romantic Heritage Discovered

From time to time here I will continue to compose posts about books that have made a profound impression on me. In her bestselling memoir on books, Reading Lolita in Tehran, Iranian author and professor Azar Nafisi wrote about the freeing power of books in an oppressive society. Books can free us and change our lives.

A few years back before a planned trip to Turkey I decided to read Regards from the Dead Princess: Novel of A Life (1989) which I had taken off the shelf several times at our public library over a two year period, but had not pushed myself to reading. One day I finally decided to check it out it and read it. Once I got it home, I devoured the novel.

The author of Regards from the Dead Princess is Kenize Mourad. Kenize Mourad is a French journalist and writer with an extraordinarily Romantic background that she learned about when she was 20. She discovered that she is the daughter of an Ottoman princess named Selma who was the granddaughter of the last Sultan of Turkey, Murad V. Mourad's father was an Indian rajah. Regards is Kenize Mourad's fictionalized effort to sort out her background. It must have been earth moving to find out as an adult that one is descended from royalty and one of the longest ruling familys in world history, the Ottoman or Osmanli family who ruled Turkish for 500 years.

Mourad's mother Selma grew up in Ortakoy Palace in Istanbul. She is pampered and spoiled by family and servants. Her mother is a princess, and her father is her mother's second husband, a magnificently handsome man which Selma's mother picks for his manly beauty. Inside this insulated environment, Selma is unaware that her country is in turmoil. She hears of a man whom everyone is hoping will be Turkey's saviour, a general named Mustafa Kemal. People call him "the Golden Rose," because unlike most Turks he has blonde hair. Selma dreams that one day she will marry Mustafa Kemal who will become known to world history as Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern day Turkey. Little does she know that in a very short time once he assumes power, in order to drag Turkey into the modern world and the west, Mustafa Kemal will erase from his country most links the Turks have with their Ottoman past. He sends Selma and her family into exile. Selma and her mother go to Lebanon. Her father decides to seek his fortune alone and becomes a drifter and adventurer cutting all ties to Selma and her mother.

As a young woman, Selma discovers that she can rather relate to the French community in Lebanon. Still there is the aching feeling that she is an outsider. Her mother retreats further into herself and her memories. Though they are losing their wealth fast, she is determined that Selma makes a good marriage. First she looks to European nobility. When hopes there fade, she turns to a Muslim rajah in India. During this time, Selma lives with the hope that her beloved handsome father will return. He writes occasionally, promising to see her, but he never keeps his promises and never sees his daughter again. Feeling rejected and the emptiness of the exile, Selma suffers a nervous breakdown. She eventually recovers and goes on to India to marry a man she has never seen before.

Her Indian husband is handsome and kind, but for years Selma had lived freely, going out to parties and socializing in western dress in Beirut. Though her mother lived the life of a recluse, she allows Selma to have a degree of freedom. In her husband's house, Selma is put in purdah. Though her husband is kind and patient, she is sexually frigid. She tries with all her power to adjust to being in this restrictive world. She learns about the poverty and squalor of so many people who live near by and dreams of helping the poor. In her own way she tries, but she is so terribly unhappy and restricted that her husband agrees to let her go to Paris on a vacation. Selma does not tell him she is finally pregnant because she knows he might not let her go and breathe if he knows her secret.

In Paris the Nazis are near and they finally occupy Paris. Selma meets an American business man who falls in love with her. She decides to never return to her husband. But under the occupation it becomes a struggle for survival, and Selma has her baby one day. She dies nearly alone with only the baby and an aging black eunuch who had become her surrogate father.

Being only a few days old when her mother died, Kenize Mourad, of course, does not remember her beautiful, auburn haired mother. However, after writing Regards, she later had the opportunity to meet her Indian father, and writes about him in the second half of her family's life story, The Garden of Badalpur, which has apparently not been translated into English.

Regards From the Dead Princess is a magnificent portrait of several cultures, and a tragic tale of a young woman who is never really able to find her place in the world.

A Romantic Revolutionary

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was born on this date in 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Next Monday, on the 21st, will be the official national holiday in celebration of his birthday.

Dr. King was a Romantic revolutionary because his vision to bring about change nonviolently was very unique to history. Few leaders in the history of the world have tried to initiate change without violence, but Dr. King was unique in this aspect. His ideas to elevate the existence of African-Americans and to usher in change was inspired by his admiration of Mahatma Gandhi's nonviolent struggle to free India from British rule and by, of course, the teachings of Jesus Christ.

I was 6 years old when Dr. King was assassinated, and I remember exactly where I was in our house the night we heard the news on the radio. When Dr. King was cut down, he was only 39. Along with playing his jazz albums, my father played over and over Dr. King's I Have A Dream speech when I was a girl. The words of this powerful speech became engrained in my memory. There was a period when I could almost recite the entire speech by heart.

My maternal grandfather's stepfather was related to the King family. When she was a girl my cousin Maxine, the daughter of one of my grandfather's half sisters, was invited and stayed for several weeks with Dr. King's widow Coretta and their children. My first year as an undergraduate, I attended Spelman College in Atlanta, which is the sister college to Morehouse College, which Dr. King attended. At the time, his younger son Dexter was a student at Morehouse, and he would come over to our school to attend classes. I passed him a few times on the sidewalk. As for getting very close to Martin Luther King, Jr. himself, my family and I have visited his grave and The King Center which is in Atlanta.

Dr. King's vision probably looks very naive and unsophisticated to many today who seem to understand only trying to bring about change violently, but I feel that if the human race is to survive, we had better get over our bloodthirsty tendencies and remember and emulate the ways of Dr. King.

A moving tribute to Dr. King can be seen on YouTube here. The song in the video is called Black Butterfly and is sung by Deniece Williams.

Martin Luther King, Jr. understood the price he might have to pay, just the way I believe Benazir Bhutto who was assassinated a few weeks ago understood too.

Aphrodite and Apollo Post Moderne

This is slightly old news, but 41 year old Halle Berry's wish has come true; she is now pregnant by her French Canadian boyfriend, model Gabriel Aubry. They are reputed to have met at a Versace fashion show. Halle says that Aubry, 31, was initially rather shy, but he obviously overcame his impediment.

After two failed marriages to black men, Halle Berry stopped seeking marriage and instead found someone she says she is happy with, who has shown her real love, and has given her her wish, a baby. Personally I believe for a number of reasons that it is best to have kids inside the context of marriage. Still because people are imperfect, with even a married father around, there is no guarantee raising children will go smoothly. It all has to do with having a level head, and a lot of men and women in this day and time don't even bother to have any balance in their outlook on life. Seems those who should have never gone the route of producing kids are the first ones to plunge in having them. The most blatant current public example of this is Britney Spears. In my most recent sojourn in Turkey, the family I worked briefly for as a live-in English tutor showed horrible parenting skills, this in a country which still holds on to traditional marriage and family. Some people are just not cut out to be parents even in such places too.

Hopefully, with her age, Halle will display some common sense and skill. But wisdom does not always come with age. But for the child's sake, I hope she does. It is said that older parents tend to be better than those who are young. Older parents don't take things for granted where having a child later in life is concerned. To older parents, a longed for child which finally appears on the scene is a blessing.

A couple of weeks ago, I watched a YouTube video of a Christian Lebanese woman whose parents had been married for over 30 years and had remained childless. When they had gave up hope, her mom became pregnant. When she was born, her mother was 55 and her dad was 60! I bet they were wonderful parents. This was in the days before fertility treatments, and being in one of the Bible lands, I am not surprised. Remember Abraham and Sarah or Elizabeth and Zachariah, both elderly Biblical couples who had a child when all hope was lost?

Halle Berry is the product of an African-American father and an English mother. With their good looks Berry's and Aubry's child may be very attractive. African-American, English, and French.

In their beauty, I think of Halle Berry and Gabriel Aubry as a post modern Aphrodite and Apollo. Here are more photos of them.

The Romance of Women in Western Art

Sometime last summer I discovered and saved to my YouTube favorites the following video, Women in Art. For the art lover and Romantic, it is a spectacular compilation of female artistic forms in western art over the last five centuries. As I have mentioned before, I minored in art (drawing & painting) when I was an undergraduate. Emma Alvarez whose blog I have listed under my Blogs With Class section presented the video on her site several months ago, I believe. Her comments about it can be read here. So here is Women in Art along with Bach's Sarabande from Suite for Solo Cello No. 1.




A companion to Women in Art is this also beautiful and breathtaking video also called Women in Art with Romantic imagery of women by a number of 19th century European artists like William Adolphe Bouguereau and the Pre-Raphaelites.

When God and The Prophets Were Black

The Green Pastures was a movie produced in Hollywood in 1936, the year my maternal grandparenst were married. It was adapted from the Pultizer Prize winning play of the same name. Like Disney's 1997 TV version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella which I wrote about in my December 30th post, the casting for The Green Pastures was like nothing the world had seen before or since at the cinema. The entire cast is African-American. God, the angels, the prophets, Adam and Eve, the King of Babylon, etc. are all blacks who speak in "old" black southern dialect. All of the stories in the film come from The Bible and are played out in the mind of a little black girl.

The characters of The Green Pastures may be offensive to some who despise old Hollywood films which too often portrayed blacks as ignorant, unlettered servants or slaves, or excessively comical, but the characters of The Green Pastures have a kind of dignity which is too lacking in what is considered by some to be "black culture" in America today. Current popular culture which is held too much in adulation by young African-Americans is a negative pool of gangsta's (gangsters), pimps, and ho's (whores). This, with a number of other issues, has damaged the black community in America. Even abroad some people believe current black stereotypes and cannot understand African-Americans who do not act "black." I would feel so ashamed sometimes when I was in Turkey and see some rap videos. Being someone who was 18 or 19 when the first rap songs went mainstream, I continue to view with distaste what rap has become since the first rappers I heard were The Sugar Hill Gang and

Kurtis Blow. They did not spew vulgarities, praise the gangster and thug life, and denigerate women. Not being a total prude, however, I do view some of the 1990s rappers like Tupac Shakur, The Notorious B.I.G., and Bone, Thugs, and Harmony as rap artists inspite of everything.

When I saw The Green Pastures on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) about 3 years ago, I did not find it offensive. Here were black people who spoke like my rural grandparents and others I would be around during my summer vacations in Greene County, Georgia, the county seat of my mother's family. In fact, I understand less the dialect that young African-Americans speak today than I do these people's in the film.

The Green Pastures is rated with 5 stars on Amazon where it can be purchased in DVD here. Here is also an excerpt from the film.

Controversial still, stereotypical, naive, sentimental, whatever your opinion, The Green Pastures is a classic artifact of African-American cinema, and I recommend it as a Romantic, moving, heartwarming, creative take on The Bible, and a work of art.

The Money Tree

I have a little time on my hands today since bronchitis has creeped back up on me and grabbed me in the last two days. I don't smoke, but if there is a swift change of weather, I get sick. Our weather went from the 20s at night, to a little over 70 degrees F in the last couple of day during daylight hours. According to my dermatologist, people here in Georgia, are more prone than anyway else on the planet to have skin and breathing allergies. This year I have not experienced any skin allergies which dry out and make dark blotches on my cheeks. Two years ago, my dermatologist gave me the weapons I needed to moisturize, so this year my skin has not been a problem.

Bronchitis hasn't been much of a problem either. Each time I go to Turkey, my lungs seem to get cleared out, I guess because of the proximity of the sea. Strangely, the excessive smoking of some Turks don't seem to aggravate my allergies very much. It is just when I come back to Georgia....Still this year my bouts with bronchitis have been few and far between with me rarely having to use my inhaler.

This week has been pretty good. On my evening job, I am displaying well that I have a special touch with customers, and my sells conversions have been exceptionally good. Like my mom continues to say, "There will always be some Turks in your life." Maybe there will be. Suffice it to say, there is one who has tried to hold on to me for close to 2 years now. And now that I am becoming convinced of his sincerity, I now no longer want it or hope it to be off again on again between us.

Last Sunday, we had the centennial birthday celebration for Miss Lizzie Swanson which I mentioned in my Saturday post. The highlight of the event was that Miss Lizzie's church decided to make a money tree for her. The tree was brought after she arrived from church with the people who took her there. A tall, green artificial plant was made into a money tree with bills attached by straight pins to each leaf. In the end, the money which was collected by adults and children at her church came to $834. $834 won't go an enormously long way with today's inflation, but at 100, Miss Lizzie's needs are frugal. It was a great day for her, and she looks great at 100. Still feisty at 100!

Where Am I Going?

I hope I can continue to blog semi-regularly since I have two jobs, one of which can be rather stressful; both of which I find rather unchallenging according to my intellect. Also, I am torn about blogging because here I really cannot sit down and craft my writing the way I would in a personal journal.

The temptation of blogging is not to really tailor your writing meticulously because there is always the underlying desire to get what you write out immediately if only to see it in sitting online. Also looking at the statistics of where your readers are coming from only adds to the ego, but leaves those of us who have dreamed of and have been encouraged over the years to take up the writing life professionally feeling a little empty as if we wasting valuable time. I have also noticed that I do a very poor job of editing when I write online, much worse then when I keep a journal or a diary.

I was encouraged when I was a 24 year graduate student by the then editor of a local newspaper to write after he printed a column I wrote about teenage pregnancy in his paper. That editor was Philip Lee Williams, and you can read his biography on Wikipedia right here. He later became a published novelist, and at his first book signing, I was there where I met his agent who showed an interest in me and who asked me if I might have something written that she might look at. Those days seem like eons ago. I have gone through so much and experienced so much which a blog is painfully too small and restrictive to contain. My life has been rather extraordinary for its' ups and down and degree of adventure when I come to think of it, though everyday I feel I still have not done enough despite choosing years ago to not live an average life. I stepped out of the box as an African American woman and developed my own style and uniqueness, and I feel I am so much the better for it.

So where am I now? I am in a place (not really the physical location) that is too small for me, and where I am wasting a little too much time just "piddling" away. I need to be refreshing my knowledge of Spanish which is an important language to have here, and I need to be working on learning how to play that guitar I bought two Christmas' ago. I feel empty sometimes because I need to get back to just old fashioned journal writing far from the maddening crowd of the internet. I will continue to write here though, but entries may come down to only 2 or 3 times a week at most because of my jobs and also because I need to focus on what I expressed above.

Sometimes I think that if Phil Williams remembers me, he is wondering, "Where is her book?" Life is short, and I had better get on the two I have started. Yes, I have started two, and it pains me that I have got them here lying around like neglected children.

Tomorrow will be an event. I have to work tomorrow morning for 5 hours, but after I get off, I will go to the home of one of our neighbors who sold us the land on on which our home was built back in 1966 when I was only 4 years old. Our Miss Lizzie Swanson will be 100 years old tomorrow. The neighborhood is giving her a centennial celebration. Miss Lizzie, as everyone calls her, is a widow whose husband Jack committed suicide during my first year in college when he discovered that he had cancer. He just blew his brains out in their yard one day. Miss Lizzie never had any children and most of her family members have now passed away, so she has a number of people she views as her adopted children, some of whom are my parents. I knew she was nearing the 100 mark, but it was not until a few minutes ago when I asked mom did I learn about her landmark age. It seems that Miss Lizzie just keeps going and going like the Energizer Bunny.

Where as with most things, I guess the same applies to blogs: quality is more important than quantity. Of course, I do subscribe to the belief that if you have a blog, don't go for months on end not writing in it and permit it to die if you can at all help it. Write, by all means, as regularly as possible.

I will end here pointing to a blog with lovely photos which speaks volumes on the Romantic, beauty, exoticism, eroticism, mysticism, just the plain cute, the gritty, the edgy, you name it if you are a Romantic and a connoisseur of beauty like I am. This is an eclectic mix, and I also adore the eclectic along with the Romantic. While searching for blogs that fit my perception of the some of the best of what the blogosphere has to offer on the arts, history, the personal, Romance, etc., I found Images That Speak to Me that can be seen here. These images are a real treat:)

My Wish For the New Year

I have a wish for the New Year that some way, somehow things will get better in this world. I am not very optimistic that it will, but still I hope.

Peace and hope seem to be ephemeral for so many. People look to groups and government to bring them peace, when so many fail to recognize that if each individual could seriously and without fear look at their own failures and remedy them, it would be a start towards a better existence. Each and every individual that is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong really need everyday to look at the man or woman in the mirror and ask what he or she can do to make this world a better place?

Making the world a better place is not about running away from challenges, being cowardly, being constantly critical and seeing everyone else's fault, not facing up to reality, or isolating. Some of the world's ills are the result of too few of us examing our hearts and finding out what is wrong there. This year what many of us need to do is make resolutions we can keep. This year the first place where every person can begin is to forgive all hurts and to ask for forgiveness. Just thinking I'm going to move on is not the way to go. The baggage from failed relationships and friends just accumulates and carries over to other relationships to only destroy them too in the long run.

Over the years my best friendships have been very fine in quality indeed because they all involved transparency, honesty, respect, and similar high principles. I only offer advise to my friends when they ask for it and vice versa.

It all begins with the individual. Start asking yourself each day, "How can I make someone else's day?" Not always, "How can someone make MY day?" Just a kind or delightful word, gesture, and look can go a long way in helping people. Listening helps too. No one cares much for a person who turns a conversation into a one dimensional exercise. Just listen sometimes. Tonight I just sat and listened at work to an woman who told me how she had to move to Georgia because she and husband lost their business and their home in Michigan. She is having to start over at 57. I hope my listening to her helped. I think it did. I was very happy to oblige by hearing her tale.

Last night I chatted with my best friend in Turkey just before New Year's here. We share each other's secrets and dreams, and I think it helps my friend just to have someone to listen who does not judge her. She thinks my off again on again Turkish boyfriend who lives in Turkey is being ridiculous in some of his overly emotional and Romantic comments he makes in e-mails to me, but she is like a sister to me and is free to say what she wants. I even joked with her that she can have him, even though I do care for him and is concerned about what might happen to him and his country. I have begged him to stop smoking, but he says he can't.

I do make the time to think about myself. I know when I need attention, and I know when it is time to focus on others. It is never fully about me. I hope it never becomes that way.

I had never met any Iraqis until last winter when I was Istanbul when I met a young woman name Waa'fa. Waa'fa and her family were the children of an Iraqi father and a Turkish mother. She was born in Baghdad. Before I meet her and her two brothers I had still felt very troubled about the plight of the people of Iraq. You don't have to physically meet a people to care about what happens to them. For the four years that the war in Iraq has raged, not a day has passed when my heart did not ache for that country. Some American citizens have long seemed to be only concerned about our troops, but the Iraqis are people too with hopes, dreams, and aspirations. I did not believe the surge would be big enough to help, but it seems now that perhaps it is working. I feel some happiness and hope for Iraq, a thing a year ago this time, I most certainly did not feel.

So I will end this rambling piece before midnight strikes and it is January 2nd with a very nice video of pre-war Iraq. Some of the refugees have started coming back. The walls between Sunni and Shiite communities which were erected by American forces are being brought down it is said. An Iraqi Romeo and Juliet who are "living happily ever after" now can be seen here.

Here too is my favorite video of Baghdad as it once was. The beautiful song in the video is sung by Hussein al Jasmi as in my previous post.



I wish all humankind a peaceful and a USEFUL 2008, and especially so for the people of Iraq.

One of the Ultimate Romantic Gestures: The Kiss! No. 1

I will admit it...I like to kiss. For someone who likes to kiss, I should allow myself to be kissed more. However, I am very picky about who gets the privilege though, perhaps too picky. I liked being kissed on the lips like most people, but I also love being kissed on the hand equally. To be kissed on my hand I actually had to travel to Botswana and Turkey before I met men who had enough class to realize that the act should not be permitted to die out even though it is a European courtly gesture from centuries previous to this one.

Today my friend Metin who has his blog Talk Turkey wrote an entry about male and female attitudes about kissing. Since he and I seem to be on the same wave length occasionally strangely I happened to be thinking about writing a post here a few days ago about kissing.

About a year or so ago while looking for romantic Victorian e-cards, I ran across a site that listed 365 ways to kiss. I have been looking for it this evening while writing this, but I cannot find it. I am really disappointed that I haven't been able to locate it because the techiques were not only erotic but were also Romantic. Of course, aspects of Romance does include eroticism. So I have decided in the midst of this to list a different way of kissing each week.

This one is a rather aggressive kiss which probably comes from or is inspired by the Kama Sutra.

---While kissing your partner, gently bite down on the lower lip (women love it ) and then start sucking on the bottom lip to give them a great sensation.

TO BE CONTINUED

In the Beginning There Was Romance

In the beginning there was Romance.... Well, not really, but God did create man and woman and from them came the idea of romance. What is Romance? Is Romance a rose, a poem, a work of art, a look, a touch, a kiss, a beautiful garment and how it is draped, an attitude, a way of perceiving the world, a fairy tale? Does Romance exist today in what is a very unromantic and cynical world? Is Romance still possible? Is Romance an anachronism, so therefore very dated? I hope to answer all of the above questions here and more.

I would define myself as a romantic. I relate more to the world previous to World War I better than I do to the present. I have long been a lover of history. When I was in elementary school and the teacher would take us to the weekly excursion to the school library, I would always approach the librarian with the request, "Do you have any more fairy tale books I can check out?"

I love the romantic ways of some of the people of history. There was the period of courtly love in the Middle Ages. There were many great and romantic figures bred especially in the middle 18th to early 19th centuries in Europe which influenced so much of western civilization through their artistry and lives, people like Lord Byron, Napoleon and his empress Josephine, and Jane Austen among others. I admire all of these because they epitomized in their own way the ideas of romanticism and romance. Along with love, conservation, and preservation this post modern age also is dying for romance, but the inhabitants of this age know it? Of course some people have a caveman and woman mentality and aren't interested.

This blog is going to be about romance not only in the past, but how to recapture romance and beauty in this time period. People have to be taught and exposed to romance in all its' forms. We learn romance by instinct like a bird learns to fly or a baby sea turtle knows within itself to head for the sea once it is hatched.

When I write about romance here, I will not only talk about romantic love, but also romance which encompasses a way of carrying oneself and viewing the world. Romance is the ultimate form of class. So lets begin exploring and learning about the concept of romance.