Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Hookah! Hookah!


My son is learning to sing and his first assignment is 'Vittoria, vittoria,' so maybe I've got double words on the brain but I also have hookah on my mind.

We bought a hookah in the Grand Bizarre in Istanbul last summer. Sadly, it did not come with grommets. Yesterday for some reason I was anxious to smoke my hookah. Unfortunately I could not get the sucker to seal up enough to bubble but my white knight rode in, on his big black truck Jemima, and bought me a new hookah from Smoker's Choice. Now I don't know which one I love best: the intricately flowered ceramic hookah we carried home from the Constantinople or the red one with gold flowers from Smoker's Choice just up the road.

I'm looking forward to sitting on our front porch, watching lightning bugs and smoking both of them on hot summer nights. Not at the same time, of course. I found that I can purchase grommets for the Turkish hookah, so it should be working soon.
Posted by at
Labels:

0 comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

No NAIS!

NoNAIS Bumper Sticker

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!