dear tasha

wisteria makes me think of elegant ladies at the turn of the century fainting onto chaises somewhere in the south of france.

i think of that, and i think of you, and i think you understand.

26

is, thanks to the denver public library's exhaustive collection of foreign films, how many bollywood movies i've watched this summer.

i'm even enrolled in a punjabi dance class.

somebody stop me. please.

pretty baby.

there are 50 ways to leave your lover, but only 6 to leave this aircraft

this weekend i flew home to surprise mommy for mother's day. it was a delightful, if brief, 48 hours made possible by the marvel of modern air travel.

on this trip, as always, southwest was my airline of choice.
there are many reasons i choose southwest. on no other airline have i ever been instructed to fasten my seatbelt "low and tight around your hips, like britney spears' pants."

but on flight 2190 nonstop service from denver to seattle, they truly surpassed themselves.

i'd like to introduce you to the man who served me my ginger ale.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivjybzdXVmI

next year in jerusalem

so i'm not jewish.

but come holy week, i refuse to allow this fact to keep me from immersing myself in the beauty and mystery of tradition.
and my gentile status allows me to forgo the kosher matzoh ball soup at passover in favor of homemade ethiopian food.

passover is my most cherished family tradition, and not just because the scene depicting it in "the prince of egypt" is unquestionably the most epic.
the seder is (paradoxically, perhaps) one of the most powerful reminders i have as a christian of our present hope and coming glory.

the service's solemnity, its symbolism and its promise have shaped my understanding of the nature of God.

besides, it's always funny to watch my dad try to muscle down a tablespoon full of horseradish.

this year i was privileged to host it myself for the first time.

my family was a few states away, and though i missed them with all my heart, i was so blessed to share this most precious of evenings with 15 of my nearest and dearest.

thank you, maris, for documenting.

amen.

TY has an apartment.

our homeless friend is homeless no longer.

learn to speak kirundi in one easy lesson

chicken carving is not one of my spiritual gifts.

the three roasted birds congealing in front of me were a daunting spectacle. i gritted my teeth and began to hack at one with a knife i suspected was ill-suited for the task.

i could tell jean-claude was smirking at me.
it didn't take long before he leaned over and asked in his lilting, broken english if he could help.

please. put me out of my misery.

i handed over the knife, which he promptly set aside. he then proceeded to tear each chicken in half with his bare hands, plopping their dismembered corpses on the platter as he went.

right. you're from africa.

i followed him out of the kitchen and stood in line behind the family from bhutan, who were skeptically prodding at a plate of injera. we helped ourselves to stuffed grape leaves and joined my mom, who was making a valiant attempt to decipher the cryptic congolese french of jean-claude's friends privat and virginie.

i don't know how she and i get into these situations.

but our night at the refugee potluck dinner proved to be one of the most special things she and i have done together in a long time. we laughed sheepishly with our new friends at our inability to say "i'm full" in more than one language.

jean-claude can say it in eight.