I’m leaving for Lebanon this afternoon!
While I am sad to leave my friends, my family, and my love behind, the excitement I am feeling makes me want to tell you about what I am looking forward to the most about my trip.
1) The food (yes, my dad should be first but the absolute, hands down, no questions asked best part of Lebanon is the delicious food. Anthony Bourdain says Lebanese food is his favorite)
2) Spending time with my dad and family (even though my dad and I are both as stubborn as mules and fight like cats and dogs, I still love the guy and it will be nice to see him)
3) Hitting the beach (while I’ll still be working and studying, my plan is to relax and run on the beach at least four days a week. It'll be warm and sunny the entire time I am there!!!!!!)
4) Traveling around the country (which includes but is not limited to: exploring the 10,000 year old city of Baalbeck, boating through some of the most beautiful caves in the world, and rock climbing some 15,000 feet up where the Cedars of Lebanon grow)
5) Indulging in trashy magazines during the 12 hour plane ride (I have no shame, I love celebrity gossip, stupid tips about sex, being told what $4,000 pair of Michael Kors to buy, and reading those somewhat inspiring stories about women)
6) Blogging (This is a first for me. So many people ask me about Lebanon, what it’s like there and why I love it so much. For the first time I get to help you experience Lebanon as I do)
I am really looking forward to my trip. I’m flying out of Boston today, stopping in Paris and at 2:00 PM tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be in Beirut, Lebanon.
Wish me luck! I’ll let you know when I get there.
Thanks for reading.
Farah
Monday, September 5, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Hurricane Irene: A Country At War
As I type this many of my friends are without power, internet, running water, and a whole slew of amenities that come with electricity. Some of my friends even had their homes completely destroyed and will never be able to go back to the way life used to be. I hope this blog post finds them well.
Just about a week ago one of my eldest cousins, Yazane (Yez-AAn), moved from Beirut, Lebanon to Cambridge, MA to obtain his Masters in Urban Planning from Harvard. He was in orientation when hurricane Irene hit. Two days after the hurricane, I called Yazane to say hello and to see how well he faired during the hurricane. He said he was well and that, “he was still waiting for the hurricane to hit.” Haha, obviously it wasn’t that bad.
I mentioned to my cousin about the lack of electricity and how we would be without power for about a week and how so many homes had been destroyed. You know what my cousin said to me. He said, “well, at least you’re not at war.”
Holy shit! What do you say to that that? What the hell was I supposed to say to him?
This is what most of the buildings look like after war.
I think a lot of people felt like we were at war with Mother Nature.
My cousin’s wife, Lama (Lem-aa), once told me about how she watched the apartment building she grew up in, get blown up during the war. The apartment building was leveled.
When I called my dad to tell him about how we were without electricity, he said well, “we’ve been without consistent electricity for 30 years.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
While I will always argue that Lebanon is one of these most beautiful places on earth, it has been hit really hard by war. Buildings are still destroyed and the electricity is never predictable. I have been stuck in an elevator, jolted on escalators and taken plenty of cold showers in the dark.
But reconstruction, is ever present in Lebanon.
Just as it is and will be in the wake of hurricane Irene.
There is no FEMA, Connecticut Light & Power and certainly no government to help put Lebanon back together, yet they continue to rebuild.
Just like we will rebuild after Irene.
Maybe we’re a lot more similar to the Middle East than we think.
Hurricane Irene photos courtesy of CTPost.com
Just about a week ago one of my eldest cousins, Yazane (Yez-AAn), moved from Beirut, Lebanon to Cambridge, MA to obtain his Masters in Urban Planning from Harvard. He was in orientation when hurricane Irene hit. Two days after the hurricane, I called Yazane to say hello and to see how well he faired during the hurricane. He said he was well and that, “he was still waiting for the hurricane to hit.” Haha, obviously it wasn’t that bad.
I mentioned to my cousin about the lack of electricity and how we would be without power for about a week and how so many homes had been destroyed. You know what my cousin said to me. He said, “well, at least you’re not at war.”
Holy shit! What do you say to that that? What the hell was I supposed to say to him?
This is what most of the buildings look like after war.
I think a lot of people felt like we were at war with Mother Nature.
My cousin’s wife, Lama (Lem-aa), once told me about how she watched the apartment building she grew up in, get blown up during the war. The apartment building was leveled.
When I called my dad to tell him about how we were without electricity, he said well, “we’ve been without consistent electricity for 30 years.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
While I will always argue that Lebanon is one of these most beautiful places on earth, it has been hit really hard by war. Buildings are still destroyed and the electricity is never predictable. I have been stuck in an elevator, jolted on escalators and taken plenty of cold showers in the dark.
But reconstruction, is ever present in Lebanon.
Just as it is and will be in the wake of hurricane Irene.
There is no FEMA, Connecticut Light & Power and certainly no government to help put Lebanon back together, yet they continue to rebuild.
Just like we will rebuild after Irene.
Maybe we’re a lot more similar to the Middle East than we think.
Hurricane Irene photos courtesy of CTPost.com
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Earthqakes and News Breaks
My promise to blog every few days before I leave was interrupted by my adorable one year old niece Madeline. She fell off the bed and bumped her tiny little head. A late night in the hospital, prompted my brother and his wife to ask me to babysit early this morning, so instead of blogging, I went to sleep and took care of my beautiful niece bright and early.
Here is the little ham sleeping in her cow print car seat. She was obviously tuckered out as well.
With that said can we talk about the overreaction to the earthquake.
Yesterday, I received an absolutely frantic call from my dad (my dad lives in Lebanon). My dad’s friend called him to tell him about the earthquake and my dad called me in a panic. My dad was genuinely worried about my well being. Now, my dad is not a funny or light-hearted person so I took the opportunity to screw with him. I told him that the pictures fell off the wall, the china cabinet had fallen over and the house was in utter disrepair. My dad flipped out and started screaming, “OMG, is your brother okay? How’s the baby? He’s not answering his phone. OMG is he okay?!?!”
You can imagine that my laughter caught him off guard. I informed my dad that I thought the washing machine was broken as opposed to an earthquake and I was sure my brother thought that my niece’s little farts probably just shook the room. If you know my dad at all, he was so pissed off at me for joking because he was led to believe that an earthquake had devastated the East Coast.
This is a little lesson in how news travels. This is not the first time news has been distorted from one country to the next. I promised I would tell you about my past trips to Lebanon and this is the perfect opportunity. While visiting my dad in Lebanon this past January, the government collapsed. Hezbollah forced a slew of ministers to resign from the cabinet in an effort to protest the United Nations ruling on the 2005 death of former prime minister Rafik Hariri. (Rafik Hariri spent millions and millions of his own $$ trying to rebuild Lebanon. My dad worked for Rafik Hariri in the 80’s. And for my HOBY friends, the Hariri Foundation sends a HOBY ambassador to WLC every year). A UN tribunal found both Hezbollah and Syria to blame for the death of Hariri yet Hezbollah denied any involvement and said the tribunal was an Israeli-American tool of hate. Blah, blah, blah. Whoever is to blame is not up to me to decide or even care about. What I do care about though was the sheer panic the American news media made about the collapse of the Lebanese government.
I read article after article stating that there had been “riots in the streets of Beirut,” and frequently about how “the unstable government was going to disrupt life in Lebanon and the country would fall apart.” Listen, I was in Beirut when the government fell. I had to read American news to hear about any riots. I was eating birthday cake when the government collapsed. And I consulted my aunt the head of the physics department at Universite Libanese (The Lebanese University) about life was going to be different after the collapse of the government. She said this, “the government changes often. Life will not be any different. We just know the government will not take care of us so we take care of ourselves.”
However the people of Lebanon feel about the collapse of the government may change from person to person but I felt the overall mentality was that “we are going to be okay, just like we always are.” It is interesting how news can become so twisted so quickly. Will you believe what you hear the first time or will you challenge yourself to hear many different views and form your own opinion?
Here is the little ham sleeping in her cow print car seat. She was obviously tuckered out as well.
With that said can we talk about the overreaction to the earthquake.
Yesterday, I received an absolutely frantic call from my dad (my dad lives in Lebanon). My dad’s friend called him to tell him about the earthquake and my dad called me in a panic. My dad was genuinely worried about my well being. Now, my dad is not a funny or light-hearted person so I took the opportunity to screw with him. I told him that the pictures fell off the wall, the china cabinet had fallen over and the house was in utter disrepair. My dad flipped out and started screaming, “OMG, is your brother okay? How’s the baby? He’s not answering his phone. OMG is he okay?!?!”
You can imagine that my laughter caught him off guard. I informed my dad that I thought the washing machine was broken as opposed to an earthquake and I was sure my brother thought that my niece’s little farts probably just shook the room. If you know my dad at all, he was so pissed off at me for joking because he was led to believe that an earthquake had devastated the East Coast.
This is a little lesson in how news travels. This is not the first time news has been distorted from one country to the next. I promised I would tell you about my past trips to Lebanon and this is the perfect opportunity. While visiting my dad in Lebanon this past January, the government collapsed. Hezbollah forced a slew of ministers to resign from the cabinet in an effort to protest the United Nations ruling on the 2005 death of former prime minister Rafik Hariri. (Rafik Hariri spent millions and millions of his own $$ trying to rebuild Lebanon. My dad worked for Rafik Hariri in the 80’s. And for my HOBY friends, the Hariri Foundation sends a HOBY ambassador to WLC every year). A UN tribunal found both Hezbollah and Syria to blame for the death of Hariri yet Hezbollah denied any involvement and said the tribunal was an Israeli-American tool of hate. Blah, blah, blah. Whoever is to blame is not up to me to decide or even care about. What I do care about though was the sheer panic the American news media made about the collapse of the Lebanese government.
I read article after article stating that there had been “riots in the streets of Beirut,” and frequently about how “the unstable government was going to disrupt life in Lebanon and the country would fall apart.” Listen, I was in Beirut when the government fell. I had to read American news to hear about any riots. I was eating birthday cake when the government collapsed. And I consulted my aunt the head of the physics department at Universite Libanese (The Lebanese University) about life was going to be different after the collapse of the government. She said this, “the government changes often. Life will not be any different. We just know the government will not take care of us so we take care of ourselves.”
However the people of Lebanon feel about the collapse of the government may change from person to person but I felt the overall mentality was that “we are going to be okay, just like we always are.” It is interesting how news can become so twisted so quickly. Will you believe what you hear the first time or will you challenge yourself to hear many different views and form your own opinion?
Sunday, August 21, 2011
This Actually Happened
Today, I was going to blog about my dad, introduce him to you, tell you all about his life and why he moved back to Lebanon but…the most ridiculous thing happened to me at the bar this weekend and I had to tell you.
As you may or may not know, about a month ago I decided to move back to my hometown of Fairfield. I have been seemingly absent for the past six years, only appearing in public when necessary (yes, like our high school reunion). Now that I have moved home I have tried to embrace all that comes with being back in town. Mainly, running into old friends and having the dreaded conversation; the one where the person tells you about their job and fluffs up what they do to make themselves sound important and then they ask what you do.
Like any other normal Friday night I went out to the bar with a group of friends from college fully knowing that I was going to have to have this conversation with at least seven people. But unlike any other Friday night, I had am extremely unusual conversation that went something like this:
Me: “Hey, how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Fill in the blank, dude I haven’t seen in at least five years, who didn’t come to the reunion I planned and who I don’t think I’m friends with on Facebook: “OMG, I’ve been great. I’m working at XYZ Company doing _________ (business, marketing, accounting, saving the world from evil wrong doers, whatever, etc. etc.) How are you doing? What are you up to these days?”
Me: “Oh, I’m great. I just moved back into town and I’m going overseas to Lebanon for the next two months to blog about the Middle East. You know, dispel rumors and help introduce people to the real Middle East.”
Random dude from high school: “Lebanon! Oh my god, my parents are from Israel, they hate Lebanese people. I should probably hate you right now.”
Me: “What, okay? My dad is from Lebanon, he’s probably not a big fan of Israel either.”
Random dude: “Well if I’m supposed to hate you and you’re supposed to hate me, let’s have hate sex.”
Me: “Holy shit, I have got to go.”
(I proceeded to find my friends and leave)
I didn’t know hate sex was a resolution for peace in the Middle East.
NOTE*** This conversation actually happened.
As you may or may not know, about a month ago I decided to move back to my hometown of Fairfield. I have been seemingly absent for the past six years, only appearing in public when necessary (yes, like our high school reunion). Now that I have moved home I have tried to embrace all that comes with being back in town. Mainly, running into old friends and having the dreaded conversation; the one where the person tells you about their job and fluffs up what they do to make themselves sound important and then they ask what you do.
Like any other normal Friday night I went out to the bar with a group of friends from college fully knowing that I was going to have to have this conversation with at least seven people. But unlike any other Friday night, I had am extremely unusual conversation that went something like this:
Me: “Hey, how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Fill in the blank, dude I haven’t seen in at least five years, who didn’t come to the reunion I planned and who I don’t think I’m friends with on Facebook: “OMG, I’ve been great. I’m working at XYZ Company doing _________ (business, marketing, accounting, saving the world from evil wrong doers, whatever, etc. etc.) How are you doing? What are you up to these days?”
Me: “Oh, I’m great. I just moved back into town and I’m going overseas to Lebanon for the next two months to blog about the Middle East. You know, dispel rumors and help introduce people to the real Middle East.”
Random dude from high school: “Lebanon! Oh my god, my parents are from Israel, they hate Lebanese people. I should probably hate you right now.”
Me: “What, okay? My dad is from Lebanon, he’s probably not a big fan of Israel either.”
Random dude: “Well if I’m supposed to hate you and you’re supposed to hate me, let’s have hate sex.”
Me: “Holy shit, I have got to go.”
(I proceeded to find my friends and leave)
I didn’t know hate sex was a resolution for peace in the Middle East.
NOTE*** This conversation actually happened.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Why blog? Why now?
Let me introduce my blog: Farah’s Allocution
For those of you who would have to look up the word allocution, I will give you the basic definition.
According to Wikipedia (the site where I get most of my information) “generally, to allocute in law means "to speak out formally." In the field of apologetics, allocution is generally done in defense of a belief. In politics, one may allocute before a legislative body in an effort to influence their position on an issue.”
My goal is to tell stories and anecdotes from my own life to help challenge what you think about the world.
In a little less than three weeks I am going to Lebanon for two months. I will be living with my dad, working for my aunt and traveling throughout the country discovering new people and new places. I will be blogging daily throughout my trip in an effort to introduce people to the Middle East.
I have spent countless hours reading false stories about the Middle East and all the “terrorists” who live there. Because we all know that "every Middle Eastern person is a suicide bombing terrorist (this is sarcasm)."
My hope in the next few weeks is to give you a better introduction to who I am, where I come from, where I am going and why I am on a mission to dispel rumors about Middle Easterners.
My inspiration: Forgive me if I told you a different version of this story, I was scared to be honest but now I have nothing to lose.
Four weeks ago I, Farah Chanel, was offered a job with the Arthritis Foundation. My background check was clear (minus a speeding ticket) and my credit was okay (minus the bagillion dollars I owe in student loans) btw who doesn’t owe $$ on student loans. As we got along the process, all my references were checked and I was reassured and validated that this was going to be the perfect job for me.
Ten days into the process, I received a phone call from the recruiter at the Arthritis Foundation saying my job offer was rescinded because of my last name. For those of you who don’t know, my last name is Hage-Sleiman, not Chanel. Since I find I am discriminated against when I use my real last name, I gave them my real last name when I was told there would be a background check. You can reference a similar example at this link.
Briefly, the study focuses on the how much name discrimination actually exist. The study has been duplicated numerous times. With the knowledge that name discrimination does exist I opted to leave out my last name on my most recent job applications. Causing, what I believe, to be an influx of call backs for interviews.
Whether you believe leaving my name off an application was right or wrong is not the question. When I received the call that the job offer had been rescinded I was told, “If you’re not telling us your last name, what else can you be hiding.” She might as well have added “terrorist” to the end of that sentence. I honestly, for the first time in my life, felt discriminated against for being Lebanese. Listen, I grew up in Suburbia, CT just like Susie Homemaker’s kids except I also happened to be Middle Eastern.
Be that as it may, I have decided to take on the responsibility of helping to reduce discrimination against people from the Middle East. My stories, anecdotes, tales and travels will be documented here. Over the next few weeks, I will introduce you to the key players in the story and give you some history of Lebanon.
Stay with me, enjoy, and share.
For those of you who would have to look up the word allocution, I will give you the basic definition.
According to Wikipedia (the site where I get most of my information) “generally, to allocute in law means "to speak out formally." In the field of apologetics, allocution is generally done in defense of a belief. In politics, one may allocute before a legislative body in an effort to influence their position on an issue.”
My goal is to tell stories and anecdotes from my own life to help challenge what you think about the world.
In a little less than three weeks I am going to Lebanon for two months. I will be living with my dad, working for my aunt and traveling throughout the country discovering new people and new places. I will be blogging daily throughout my trip in an effort to introduce people to the Middle East.
I have spent countless hours reading false stories about the Middle East and all the “terrorists” who live there. Because we all know that "every Middle Eastern person is a suicide bombing terrorist (this is sarcasm)."
My hope in the next few weeks is to give you a better introduction to who I am, where I come from, where I am going and why I am on a mission to dispel rumors about Middle Easterners.
My inspiration: Forgive me if I told you a different version of this story, I was scared to be honest but now I have nothing to lose.
Four weeks ago I, Farah Chanel, was offered a job with the Arthritis Foundation. My background check was clear (minus a speeding ticket) and my credit was okay (minus the bagillion dollars I owe in student loans) btw who doesn’t owe $$ on student loans. As we got along the process, all my references were checked and I was reassured and validated that this was going to be the perfect job for me.
Ten days into the process, I received a phone call from the recruiter at the Arthritis Foundation saying my job offer was rescinded because of my last name. For those of you who don’t know, my last name is Hage-Sleiman, not Chanel. Since I find I am discriminated against when I use my real last name, I gave them my real last name when I was told there would be a background check. You can reference a similar example at this link.
Briefly, the study focuses on the how much name discrimination actually exist. The study has been duplicated numerous times. With the knowledge that name discrimination does exist I opted to leave out my last name on my most recent job applications. Causing, what I believe, to be an influx of call backs for interviews.
Whether you believe leaving my name off an application was right or wrong is not the question. When I received the call that the job offer had been rescinded I was told, “If you’re not telling us your last name, what else can you be hiding.” She might as well have added “terrorist” to the end of that sentence. I honestly, for the first time in my life, felt discriminated against for being Lebanese. Listen, I grew up in Suburbia, CT just like Susie Homemaker’s kids except I also happened to be Middle Eastern.
Be that as it may, I have decided to take on the responsibility of helping to reduce discrimination against people from the Middle East. My stories, anecdotes, tales and travels will be documented here. Over the next few weeks, I will introduce you to the key players in the story and give you some history of Lebanon.
Stay with me, enjoy, and share.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Ingredients In Lemonade
Dear Friend,
I know you have just been raped. If you tell your mother, she will probably make you keep the baby. If your dad finds out, he may not wait for the police to find him. Or they may both be understanding. Either way your virginity has been stolen one night after a party by some sleeze ball who thought you were cute, got your too drunk and took advantage of you. He's not completely to blame, you could have drank less, you could have made better choices, but you sure as hell never said yes. I know, it hurts but now you're pregnant. You made a bad choice and you will have to forever live with the consequences of your actions...even if they weren't quite your fault. You will have to be reminded daily about your rape because you may never know where your baby got those eyes. But don't worry, you can name your kid after the cute guy in our chem class as a constant reminder of how much fun we had as lab partners. See, you can turn a really lemon situation into lemonade.
Your friend,
Sharron Angle
I recently read an article by San Stein on HuffingtonPost titled "Sharron Angle's Advice For Rape Victims Considering Abortion: Lemons Into Lemonade." If that title doesn't grab your attention I don't know what does. Rape, abortion, and an anecdotal children's tale all the in same title/ if this was Starship Troopers your screen would have started typing and talking at you to ask if "you want to know more." If Starship Troopers was real, I would have clicked "Yes." In reality I simply opened the article/.
The article summed up an interview with Republican Senate Candidate Sharron Angle fromNevada
I know you have just been raped. If you tell your mother, she will probably make you keep the baby. If your dad finds out, he may not wait for the police to find him. Or they may both be understanding. Either way your virginity has been stolen one night after a party by some sleeze ball who thought you were cute, got your too drunk and took advantage of you. He's not completely to blame, you could have drank less, you could have made better choices, but you sure as hell never said yes. I know, it hurts but now you're pregnant. You made a bad choice and you will have to forever live with the consequences of your actions...even if they weren't quite your fault. You will have to be reminded daily about your rape because you may never know where your baby got those eyes. But don't worry, you can name your kid after the cute guy in our chem class as a constant reminder of how much fun we had as lab partners. See, you can turn a really lemon situation into lemonade.
Your friend,
Sharron Angle
I recently read an article by San Stein on HuffingtonPost titled "Sharron Angle's Advice For Rape Victims Considering Abortion: Lemons Into Lemonade." If that title doesn't grab your attention I don't know what does. Rape, abortion, and an anecdotal children's tale all the in same title/ if this was Starship Troopers your screen would have started typing and talking at you to ask if "you want to know more." If Starship Troopers was real, I would have clicked "Yes." In reality I simply opened the article/.
The article summed up an interview with Republican Senate Candidate Sharron Angle from
"Stock: What do you say then to a young girl, I am going to place it as he said it, when a young girl is raped by her father, let's say, and she is pregnant. How do you explain this to her in terms of wanting her to go through the process of having the baby?
Angle: I think that two wrongs don't make a right. And I have been in the situation of counseling young girls, not 13 but 15, who have had very at risk, difficult pregnancies. And my counsel was to look for some alternatives, which they did. And they found that they had made what was really a lemon situation into lemonade...So it is meaningful to me to err on the side of life." (HuffingtonPost)
Asking a child to turns lemons into lemonade after they have been violently raped by an incestuous psychopath, seems a bit inconsiderate. It seems a bit more selfish to ask a child to only think about the possible baby inside them and not about the fact that they have been abused, assaulted, and violated and it has happened to them by their own flesh and blood. Let's keep going...what about the girl on the street, who was asking for a ride, because it was a little too cold and a little too far to walk, she got picked up, he started to take her home but turned a different way, he took her to a park, beat her with the blunt end of the tire iron so she couldn't move, he took advantage of her, raped her, and left for dead. She was found by joggers the next morning, she lived and she is now pregnant. What if we asked her to turn her lemony situation into lemonade"
Let's take it to the more common level...what about the girl at the bar, who drank a little too much, went home with a friend of a friend, was having a good time, until that guy held her down for a little too long, she felt a little bit uncomfortable, she didn't want to sleep with him, but he forced himself upon her. Now she's been violated she’s pregnant by her assailant...maybe she can make lemonade popsicles.
Dear Sharron Angle,
I thank you for your letter in this difficult time. I told my mom, she said was raped and asked me to keep the baby. My dad found out and bought a gun. My parents are trying to help me through it but I'm really sad that I lost "it" to this guy in this way. I guess I probably should have drank less that night. Well, now I'm pregnant. School is getting tough. Every familiar face is a horrific reminder of that night. I can't sleep and when I do I have nightmares. My grades are suffering. My teachers don't understand. The guys who live down the hall started talking about me the other day. I can't take it anymore. I am going to get through this. I am going to tell my teachers what happened. Maybe I can pick up my grades and finish school with honors. I'll tell the guys down the hall the truth about that night. If only you understood, I am not okay with what happened and now I am choosing to have an abortion. See, there are more ingredients in lemonade than just lemons.
With no regret,
Society
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The Date is Just a Number
A few days ago I met this lady who was 104 years old. Not that I am an expert on guessing the age of anyone over 75 /I would be terrible at running that carnival game where the overweight scruffy carni has to guess your age or weight (which btw I always won bc I look 6 years older and 20lbs skinnier than I actually am)/ but nonetheless this woman looked good for her age.
To put it into perspective, I deduced she was born in 1906. 1906 - when the Second Geneva Convention was held to protect the Sick and Shipwrecked Members of the Armed Forces at Sea. Pirate invasions would be rampant if not for that. 1906 - when the Grand Duchy of Finland became the first nation to allow females to stand as candidates. (CT's first female governor - Ella Grasso). And 1906 - when SOS became an international distress signal. Could you imagine the sale of Brillo pads without the term SOS existing?
This woman has been alive for a long time and I really only met her in passing.
Her smile wrinkles are permanent. She is covered in freckles - sunscreen wasn't invented until 1938 and first commercially available 1944 - she would have been 38. She was gaily walking about and happy to shake my hand, for only a second though, as she was quickly distracted by the handsome young gentleman standing to the left of me. She was happy. I was happy.
So what do you say to a woman who is 104 years old? Thinking I was rather catchy, sort of creative and kind of funny, I said "104 years old! You don't look a day over 85." Note: Really thinking this compliment was something she hadn't heard before and would spark an interesting conversation that would carry through the night and maybe every Tuesday for rest of her years. I wanted that experience, I could write a novel - Tuesday's with Miss Martin. The possibilities seemed endless. Yet, I had but thirty seconds of her time. A fleeting moment is the span of billions. I tried a joke and she offered me this.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. And age is just a number."
To put it into perspective, I deduced she was born in 1906. 1906 - when the Second Geneva Convention was held to protect the Sick and Shipwrecked Members of the Armed Forces at Sea. Pirate invasions would be rampant if not for that. 1906 - when the Grand Duchy of Finland became the first nation to allow females to stand as candidates. (CT's first female governor - Ella Grasso). And 1906 - when SOS became an international distress signal. Could you imagine the sale of Brillo pads without the term SOS existing?
This woman has been alive for a long time and I really only met her in passing.
Her smile wrinkles are permanent. She is covered in freckles - sunscreen wasn't invented until 1938 and first commercially available 1944 - she would have been 38. She was gaily walking about and happy to shake my hand, for only a second though, as she was quickly distracted by the handsome young gentleman standing to the left of me. She was happy. I was happy.
So what do you say to a woman who is 104 years old? Thinking I was rather catchy, sort of creative and kind of funny, I said "104 years old! You don't look a day over 85." Note: Really thinking this compliment was something she hadn't heard before and would spark an interesting conversation that would carry through the night and maybe every Tuesday for rest of her years. I wanted that experience, I could write a novel - Tuesday's with Miss Martin. The possibilities seemed endless. Yet, I had but thirty seconds of her time. A fleeting moment is the span of billions. I tried a joke and she offered me this.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. And age is just a number."
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