Literary Safari

Jim Rogers was a multi-millionaire investor who could afford to retire and morph into a world traveler before he turned 37, but it took him another 25 years to find the courage to become a father. In the introduction to his latest book, A Gift to My Children: A Father’s Lessons for Life and Investing (Random House, June 2009), the best-selling author of Hot Commodities and Adventure Capitalist writes:

I must admit that not very long ago I would have scoffed at even the idea of having children of my own. Growing up in Alabama, I was the oldest of five boys, and much as I loved my brothers, I spent an awful lot of time looking after them! Alas, I couldn’t help but notice what a financial burden having five children had imposed on my parents no mater how keen they were on us. Later in life, I was too busy working and traveling even to think about parenthood, which seemed like an endless drain on the time, energy, and money with which I was pursuing my passions.  …

In his latest book, Rogers takes a break from writing about his travel escapades or providing tips on the best places to invest your money, instead distilling his life experiences into a book of advice for his two daughters, five-year old Happy and Bee, who was born in 2008.  Becoming a father at the age of 62, when he had the “experience, time, and energy” allowed Rogers to take on his new role with “passion” inspired him to put down his life lessons “in one place, with examples of[his] own experience, as a guide to life, adventure, and investing” with perhaps cliché sounding chapter titles such as:

Swim Your Own Races: Do Not Let Others Do Your Thinking for You
Focus on What You Like
Common Sense? Not So Common
Let the World Be a Part of Your Perspective
Learn Philosophy: Learn to “Think”
Learn History!
Learn Languages
Recognize Change and Embrace It
Look to the Future!

But there are surprises and interesting twists along the way, such as Rogers advice to his children that they learn Mandarin (“It is the century of China!”, understand the significance of the BRIC nations (“focus investment strategies on growing economies abroad”), experience the world’s diversity (“I urge you to leave your country for a few years. You can always return, but you will have a new understanding. Of everything.”), or even something as simple as the importance of saving (“As you get older, you will probably have friends who eat at expensive restaurants every night, buy the latest gadgets or fashion trends, and spend vacations at fancy beach resorts. You must avoid the trap of spending money willynilly simply because you can. Not only is this a road to financial ruin, it can cause you to forget what’s important in life.”)

I picked this book up at the library a couple of days ago, and both my husband and I got through most of it the same evening. There’s something about the combination of sentimentality, practicality, and utilitarianism, plus a down to earth approach to living an authentic life, that appealed to both of us — not just as tips that we hope to someday pass on to our soon-to-be daughter, but also as advice we could apply to our own lives.

One gets the feeling that Rogers sat down to compose this thoughts and sentiments for his two treasures with the knowledge that there is no certainty that he may be around when they are in their twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties  … to be able to tell them all this himself. As someone whose father passed away when I was 27, but who was very much a world traveler, a wise investor, a reader, an explorer, and an adventurer, Rogers’ perspective was the perfect father’s day gift that fell into my lap.

This picture in today’s New York Times magazine (“The Way We Live Now”) made me smile. These uppity lunching ladies really need to make an investment in the purse hook I picked up in Spain earlier this month.

The purse hook is a little hanger that you can latch onto the edge of any table at a restaurant and from which you can hang your purse (no long straps please, but heavy purses are fine as some of these hooks supposedly hold up to 200 lbs! I haven’t tested this claim yet!) . No more slinging purses on the shoulder of your chair or putting them on the floor.

Here, in the US, this is a burgeoning online business, especially since  recent studies reporting on the variety of germs that can be carried around via our purses have made many of us wary of where we put our bags down:

A study conducted in the US tested the purses of 50 women in your average shopping mall. Swabs were taken from the bottom of the purses and then taken back to a lab to test what was living on them and the results are quite disturbing. One out of four purses were carrying the e-coli bacteria. A host of other bacteria were also found on the purses, the most notable being hepatitis. The researchers recommend that woman wipe the bottom of their purse once a day and to be very cautious of where they place it.

What a clever little invention. I’ve been on the look out for one for quite some time, but they aren’t easy to find in retail stores here as they are in Spain (where I picked up my Miro-designed version up in a souvenir shop for a mere 3 euros) or in Brazil, where girls grow up with the superstition that you’ll lose all of your money if you put your purse on the floor. According to this article, the hooks have actually been around since the 1920s, when handbags emerged as a symbol of the emancipated women. “Even Queen Elizabeth is said to employ an S-shaped one to hang her handbags, the contents of which remain a mystery.”

This is definitely one of those handy inventions that belongs in Don Norman’s The Design of Everyday Things.

A few places where you can get one of your own (no, I don’t make a cut off this endorsement!):
Flo’s Accessories: Personalized and engraved ($15.95 plus shipping)
Bed Bath and Beyond: The As Seen on TV version ($9.99 for a set of two, plus carrying case)
Purse Jewelry: Lots of pretty designs ($8.95 each plus shipping)

Dali spent his summers here as a child and bought a home in this small, Mediterranean village in Catalonia’s Costa Brava. He lived here with his wife until the 1990s. Picasso painted here. So did Matisse, Duchamps, and Max Ernst. The cobble stone winding streets are filled with art galleries and ceramic shops where artisans ply their wares in a most leisurely manner, hunched over tables on which sit their paint brushes, half-filled wine glasses, trays of tapas, and paintbrushes.

It’s off season so the streets are empty of most tourists and we have the pleasure of seeing school children walk home hand in hand with their parents, Arab women pushing strollers down steep hills, and construction workers sturdying up the walls of the bay before the beginning of the summer season.

Yesterday evening, we tried to visit the Museo de Cadaques. After a long uphill climb and rocky downhill descent, we arrived at the front door to find it locked. I peered in through the window and saw a TV screen showing a movie of people making chocolate. “Ah, the museum must be open,” I said. “They’re screening a movie.” I knocked on the door several times until a large elderly woman with silver hair, dressed in widow’s black opened the door. In Catalan, she informed me in exasperation that this was her house, not the museum!

We moved on, in search of a bench from which we could watch the sun set over the bay.  It’s good to have nothing to do except watch the sun set.

No, I’m not referring to Slumdog Millionaire’s sweep at the Oscars last night (though I will take this opportunity to say that I did have a feeling this would happen back in November when I wrote about it here)!

I’m referring to our six word Valentine contest of a few weeks ago.  Thanks to all of you who played and took the time to share your brief memoirs of real-life love. Reading them as they rolled in over Valentine’s Day weekend reminded me of the many hues and shades of love – from emotional to humorous – that exist and how this annual holiday is (thankfully) not all about roses and chocolates.

Food plays a big part in love of all kinds.

There was Jeff’s:

I picked up a happy meal.

And Ankur’s:

Eating baklava together, no gifts necessary.

Love is also about daily routines and the mundane, as in Bry’s:

Your incessant snores lull me to sleep.

And Maria’s:

Morning warm; you open your eyes.

Love is so much about optimism, as Prasant’s showed:

Hopeful. Heartend. I’m still here.

It is also a source of beautiful metaphors like the one in Debbie’s entry:

Buoyant, we rock, but stay afloat.

The winner of the six-word memoir of love contest, however, is the one which struck our guest judge Anita Jain the most. It came from Fuse # 8 who wrote:

His librarian movie? He married one.

These six words allowed Jain – who did not know any of the contestants or read their entries alongside their names – to imagine a larger context and story. In her judge’s comments, she wrote that she “saw it as a reference to a man’s fantasy of the sexy librarian — which in a way is ultimately about men’s view of women as either Madonnas or whores and in an ideal world, both at the same time. To me, it’s a comment on that and how as much as the world has changed, and women have gained equality in so many realms, this male perception of women is something we modern women still have to struggle against.”

Congratulations to Fuse # 8 for making a V-Day impression, and for telling a story that can be read in so many different ways. That, I suppose is one of the qualities of powerful storytelling. In fact, that is what, I think, makes these six-word memoirs such a little jewel of a genre. They provide a glimpse of the writer’s experience and then, allow the reader to imagine the rest.

Submit your six word love memoir here and enter to win a free copy of Six Word Memoirs of Love and Heartbreak, courtesy of SMITH magazine. Our guest judge will be Anita Jain, author of “Marrying Anita,” a memoir about her search for love in contemporary India which the New York Times calls ” a thoughtful, incisive exploration of the nature of connection.” Deadline: Midnight, February 16, 2009.

So, I’m not usually one to make a big hoopla about Valentine’s Day, but I’ll make an exception this year.

I opened my mail last week to find an envelope from HarperPerennial. Inside was my very own personal copy of a pocket-sized paperback (4X6, a little smaller in size than your average Valentine’s Day Card, but chock full of so many more wishes!) Six Word Memoirs of Love and Heartbreak: From Writers Famous and Obscure which features my very own six word memoir on page13:

Sleeping, our foreheads touch. Fates mingle.

This book is the second offering from SMITH Magazine whose initial invite to writers two years ago was a simple one (inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s “For Sale: baby shoes, never worn): Everyone has a story. Can you tell yours in six words? The submissions poured in like crazy and soon enough they had published theNYT bestselling Not Quite What I Was Planning.

In the introduction to Love and Heartbreak, the editors Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith write:

As we’ve sifted through piles of briefly encapsulated lives, we’ve seen themes emerge … By far the most common thread, however, is love. Passionate love, parental love, platonic love–it seemed to be the most universally life-changing factor for storytellers of every age, background and worldview.

This book celebrates life in all its shades of red–a valentine, if you will, to every kind of love. But it’s also a nod to love’s evil twin: heartache.

Indeed, many of the memoirs in Love and Heartbreak focus on the latter, but since Cupid’s Day is on the horizon, let’s flex our writing muscles by taking a whirl at penning a six-word memoir on love, whatever that may mean to you. Consider it your Valentine. Post it here in the comments section, then go to sixwordmemoirs.com and share it with the readers and editors of SMITH magazine. You never know. It may end up in a book someday. The “best” memoir submitted in the comments section will win a free copy of this book, courtesy of SMITH magazine.

I’ll leave you with this some of my favorite “Valentines” and a book trailer for inspiration.

We belly laugh every single day. – Michelle Ottey
My life’s accomplishments? Sanity and you. – Elisabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)
Bachelor visits library, books wife (Nonfiction). – Michael Perry
It helps to label the books. – Juan Antonio del Rosario
Hired me. Fired me. Married me. – Julie Klam
True love is a nephew’s hug. – Alison Schulak-Moore (in honor of my nephew’s 2nd birthday today!)
Cynical New Yorker convinced of soulmate. – Kate Hamill
It’s just a matter of luck. – Ayelet Waldman

Oh, and if you happen to be in town on the 14th (I won’t), maybe you’ll want to check out this event: February 14, NYC, Housing Works Bookstore, 8pm. The Valentine’s Day Personal Media Mixer & Confessional Culture Variety Show : PostSecret, Found Magazine, Mortified, and Cassette From My Ex join with SMITH Magazine for a very special evening to benefit Housing Works. Buy tickets here.

OK, so what’s your six-word memoir of love? Deadline: Midnight, February 16, 2009.

Here’s the first in a series of reviews of books that I think would make great gifts this holiday season. 

Rang (pronounced rung) is the Hindi word for color. It is the word that first came to mind when I began turning the vibrant pages of India: In Word and Image (Welcome Books, 2008, $60) by photographer Eric Meola.

Featuring an introduction by Bharati Mukherjee, this book captures the lively hues and moods of India through more than 200 photos of her diverse peoples, festivals, and traditions, with a special focus on festivals.

Meola’s extensive travels through India (and his keen eye) gift us with an intimate glimpse of subjects ranging from the exquisite palaces of Rajasthan and temples of Tamil Nadu to the simple monasteries of the Himalayas. What makes this book stand out in the company of other photographic perspectives on India, however, is the pairing of images with literary tidbits from a sampling of India’s best (and some of my favorite) writers—Salman Rushdie, Kiran Desai, R. K. Narayan, V. S. Naipul, and more.

If you’re looking for a book about the new India–which looks at the rise of shopping malls, tech parks, gourmet restaurants, and fusion fashions–this is not the book for you. Instead, you’ll prefer Images of a Journey: India in Diaspora, by Steve Raymer. But, if you’re looking for a book that does justice to the the architectural and cultural dazzle of India, then this book is for you.

Whether you’re a first-time traveler to India seeking inspiration, a travel shutterbug, or simply someone like me who occasionally catches the wanderlust virus for the homeland, this is a coffee table jewel worth acquiring. And sharing. In fact, I was going to suggest it as a holiday gift, but I’m afraid that once it lands in your lap, you’ll probably be reluctant to part with it! (So … maybe you’d like to order two?!

A few parting images for you …

 

 

All photos by Eric Meola. Reprinted with permission of Welcome Books.

I read Devis with Babies post “How to Celebrate Diwali with Your Kids” with interest. Though I don’t have those mommy duties yet, I could appreciate the second-gen challenges of passing on a festival and its traditions. (My nephew is almost two and recent conversations with my sister have been a lot about how to fashion his Diwali memories and experiences.)

Book fiend that I am, the following suggestions in Devis with Babies’s “Ten Insta-Culture Ways to Celebrate Diwali With Your Child” especially stood out to me, :

7. Exchange small gifts with friends. Last year, my friend gave little diyas to her friends’ children, personalized with their names. She also got us a children’s book about Diwali. I was super impressed.

8. When your kid asks you, “Mommy, what is Diwali?” don’t get panicked — whip out a book! Here are some more Diwali books for children.

Great idea. Only problem is that I think there are some wonderful books that got ignored in the above links. Here’s what I consider a more timely and rounded list of great Diwali books for kids, many of which, really, can also be read at any time of the year. They all touch on themes of celebration, sharing, festivals, and tradition.

Divali Rose, by Vashanti Rahaman ((Boyds Mill Press, 2008)

Ricki’s grandpa is the proud owner of a rosebush that promises to grow roses “the color of Divali.” As the Hindu festival grows closer, Ricki snaps off one of his grandpa’s prized rosebuds by mistake. Will he allow Grandpa to blame the loss on their Indian neighbors or will he gather up his courage to confess his mistake? Jamel Akib’s chalk pastels create a lush, tropical, festive atmosphere in this sweet, multigenerational tale which examines the complex history of Indians in Trinidad.

You can listen to my podcast review of this book at Just One More Book, which served up a special Diwali episode yesterday – “Cheers, Jeers, and Jeera”. This episode features books with more “Flavors of the East,” including Shehnaaz Nanji’s Treasure for Lunch, Pooja Makhijani’s Mama’s Saris and Rachna Gilmore’s Lights for Gita, also worthy Diwali reads.

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This is part of an ongoing series that I recently started here, “Flex Your Writing Muscles,” (installment 1) where I take a writing prompt and work it, knead it, pound it … and see what emerges out of it.

In this case, my prompt was to begin with the words “When I was [insert age]” and to write about a memory of that age. I actually started this prompt a year ago, around Diwali, at my desk at work in between tasks. I’ve been playing with it for a while and finally made a small breakthrough today.

The Times of Diwali

Diwali in Bombay

When I was seven
We drove along Marine Drive
My face pressed
Against the grimy glass
Of the bumpy taxi
In my lap a gift-wrapped box
Of store bought jalebis
Sticky orange
Sugary sweet
Circles of delight
Topped with edible aluminum foil

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“What are you doing for Diwali?” Ask that question of most members of my family and the first response will be “cleaning!” That’s right. There’s one very important thing that my mom and grandmothers taught me that we must do on the Hindu festival of lights: Clean the house.

When I was a kid, for weeks preceding Diwali, I would watch as ladders were pulled out so that those faraway storage spots could be investigated and dusted clear of cobwebs, drawers were emptied and wiped clean of every speck of dust, closets were emptied and old clothes given away, and the windows of my father’s and uncles shops were polished like new.

It was only then that we could break out the new clothes, the diyas (earthen clay lamps) and the sugary treats. Then, of course, was my favorite part – the opportunity to switch on every single light in the house. I mean, every *single* light, from the tiniest desk lamp to the dining room chandelier! There was never any talk of the electricity bill on Diwali and this “lights on” attitude lasted for three whole days.

I’m sitting here today watching the sunset and about to switch on all the lights at home and it’s striking me how fitting it is that Diwali arrives at this time of year, just when our days are getting shorter and darkness is creeping upon us earlier each day. More than anything else, I suppose Diwali brings with it the metaphorical reminder that even if we are surrounded by darkness, we do still hold the power to …. switch on our individual | inner | personal lights!

Next week, the holy month of Ramadan will come to its conclusion and millions of Muslims around the world will be celebrating Eid-ul-Fitr. “Eid” is an Arabic word meaning festival and “Fitr” means to break the fast. So, yes, Eid-ul-Fitr is literally the festive breaking of a month long fast.

Earlier this week, I was surprised and pleased to see the window of my favorite children’s bookstore in NYC, the Bank Street Bookstore, filled with books and novelty items about Eid. Included in their window display are the following three picture books which, I think, beautifully bring the Eid celebration to life for young children here in the U.S. Here you go: three picture book picks, one for each day of Eid.

The Best Eid Ever, by Asma Mobin-Uddin
Boyds Mill Press, 2007

On Eid morning, despite all the gifts she receives, Aneesa is sad because her parents are away on Hajj. Her outlook changes, however, when she meets two sisters—refugees from a war torn country—at the mosque. While her grandmother Nonni prepares a delicious Eid feast, Aneesa cooks up a plan to share the festival’s delights with her new friends and give them the best Eid ever. Laura Jacobsen’s pastel pencil illustrations sensitively bring to life Asma Mobin-Uddin’s poignant holiday story about sadaqua, the Islamic tenet of voluntary giving within one’s means.

The White Nights of Ramadan, by Maha Addasi
Boyds Mill Press 2008

Noor lives in a country in the Persian Gulf and is preparing for Girgian, a special three-day celebration that takes place in the middle of Ramadan when the moon is almost full. Girgian means “candy” and is an occasion where children wear their best traditional clothes and go from house to house collecting treats from their neighbors (not so different from our Halloween tradition of trick or treating). Ned Gannon’s warm paintings carry the reflection of glimmering moonlight and bring a different culture to life for readers. Underlying the narrative of the festivities is a reminder of the significance of Ramadan. “Ramadan can be fun, but remember that the true meaning of Ramadan is spending time with family and sharing with those less fortunate,” Noor’s grandmother tells her.

The Night of the Moon: A Muslim Holiday Story, by Hena Khan
Chronicle Books, 2008

A wonderful primer about the A-Z’s of Ramadan as its celebrated in a Pakistani household in America, complete with presents, backyard barbeques, and trampolines. As seven-year old Yasmeen follows and watches the phases of the moon, we are led through the unfolding festivities in her household and community. In her multicultural classroom, she and her classmates engage in a discussion about Ramadan where she explains the significance of the holy month. The story beautifully portrays a holiday celebrated by many different cultures, a holiday not so different from other holidays marked on the American calendar. This is wonderful contribution to the literature of tolerance and a window into contemporary Muslim culture. I am a huge fan of illustrator Julie Paschkis’s work. Her gorgeous, detailed style is complemented by her ability to take traditional art forms (in this case Islamic tiles) and render them in a contemporary context.

More books about Ramadan at Just One More Book.

I left Italy yesterday, and this morning, traveled to India with Elizabeth Gilbert. Yes, I’m still talking about synchronicity and Eat, Pray, Love!

In her first chapter, where she describes her arrival in India at her guru’s ashram, Gilbert sinks into a 3:30 meditation session which ends with her chanting the mantra Om Namah Shivaya: “I honor the divinity that resides within me.” It’s fitting somehow that I was reminded of this chant today of all days, because today is the Hindu festival of Mahashivaratri. This festival always falls on the 13th (or 14th) day of the dark half (new moon) of Phalgun (the 12th month of the lunar calendar, which typically falls in February-March). The name means “the night of Shiva”. [Mahashivaratri music and chants for those who are interested are here.]

This reminds me of an amazing book that I came across while I was in India: Follow the Hindu Moon: A Guide to the Festivals of South India, by Soumya Sitaraman. If it weren’t so darn heavy, I would have bought it. [check out a PDF preview of the book]

The author Sitaraman used to live in California. She was frequently flooded with questions from her son and American friends about the festivals celebrated in her household. This book is a guide that is intended to help “you understand the place of ritual in modern life.”

I’m always struck by the sheer variety and range of festivals celebrated in India – and by the different ways of celebrating them in different regions. For example, the ritual pooja my parents (more rooted in the North Indian/Sindhi culture) used to perform on Diwali is completely different than the one my husband’s family (from South India) performs. When I spotted Follow the Hindu Moon at the Bangalore airport bookstore, I was psyched. It was almost Pongal–the harvest festival which is a huge deal at my in-laws but was completely unknown to me before my wedding–and now I could actually get a bird’s eye view of the origins, significance, and celebration. I loved the idea of having a book that actually explains many of the traditions and festivals that I will repeatedly encounter over the coming years—and that I hope to be able to incorporate in small ways in my own household.

Follow the Hindu Moon is divided into two books. The first highlights every South Indian festival celebrated in Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Kerala, and Tamil Nadu. Book two offers an overview of Hindu cosmology, festival recipes, and guides to performing the rituals (including shopping lists and even cheat sheets to distinguish between ‘quick pooja’ and ‘elaborate pooja’!). The photographs by Usha Kris are gorgeous, and as I flipped through this coffee table guide, there was no doubt in my mind that this book is a true labor of love.

The bad news is that you won’t find this book in a local bookstore in the US (though you can order it online through some third party vendors). The good news is that the author seems to be adding and expanding the website – so that eventually, summaries of each of the festivals, along with recipes and shopping lists, may actually be available online.

Related:

Review in the Wall Street Journal (livemint.com)
Q&A with author from India Today

My dad passed away exactly six years and one month ago. Every Christmas Day, I remember the delight and sweetness he brought into my life. Here are some of my favorite memories of him that I thought I’d share as part of my off-and-on again series “Family Ruminations.”

Papa always came home late on Christmas Eve. If my mother, sister, and I didn’t accompany him to Man Plus, the men’s retail clothing store that he owned in Greenwich Village, then he would go alone.In the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping—the biggest sales night of the year—he walked the floor, checking on the salesmen as they skillfully guided harried customers to the perfect last-minute gift.

Papa always stayed at “the store” (as we called it) till it shut its doors. Then he would hand out Christmas bonuses to the salesmen and pop a bottle of wine or champagne with them, sharing in the feel of satisfaction with them.

I think that this was his favorite night of the year. He loved people watching … and there is nothing like people watching in the Village, especially at Christmas time. All sorts of people would pound the pavements in search of that perfect gift. At an urban men’s clothing store that specialized in hip-hop apparel and bling bling two-piece sets, the turnout was even more spectacular. Beautiful men and women armed with handfuls of cash arrived in their silver and black BMW’s and sports cars. Short black men dressed in baggy jeans and large fleece and leather jackets strutted through the door flashing their golden teeth at the women browsing through the racks. Young children held onto the hands of their mothers grumbling, “When can we go Mommy?” while their mothers shifted shirts between their hands asking, “Do you think Daddy will like this or that one?”

On Christmas Eve, Papa would usually leave the shop for a few hours and wander through the of the West Village, going into his favorite stores to pick up gifts for us, his three girls. Over the years, we came to love and look forward to these last-minute shopping excursions.

Balducci’s Market was at the top of his list. Here, he would walk through the packed aisles and pick carefully from the assortment, bringing home a loaf of tomato focaccia chocolate truffles, and of course, French pastries for Mom. Papa loved fine food and there is no more tempting place to be at than Balducci’s at Christmas time, where gift baskets pregnant with fresh baked goods, gourmet fruit and fine chocolate line the aisles and the pavement outside.

The other places on Papa’s list were Barnes and Noble, Bigelow’s Pharmacy, and Le Chateau, the Canadian women’s clothing store. It was also on 8th Street like Man Plus. Here, Papa would buy us our annual presents – pajamas, slippers, socks, gloves, scarves, one of each for each of us. He had wild taste. One year, he bought me blue pajamas decorated with oreo-stuffed clouds, golden stars and animal print poufy slippers. That same year, he bought anjali cloud pajamas. For mom, he always bought beautiful and delicate colors that were warm and comfortable like the knits and sweats that she so likes to wear.

We would laugh when we opened his gifts. They were always hastily wrapped in boxes after we went to bed, our names scrawled on the brown paper packaging in black fine-tip pen and no giver acknowledged.

On Christmas Eve, when we were usually wrapping up with dinner, we would hear the garage door open. “He’s home,” we would laugh as we chewed on our piece of apple or orange. He would stay in the garage for a long time and we knew that he was sorting through his purchases, bringing them into the basement so that he wouldn’t have to go out into the cold later. Then, when he was finished with his transfer of goods, he would walk into the house, empty-handed but for one or two shopping bags, the ones filled with the perishable food items, that is!

A few years before he passed away, he also discovered Carry On Tea and Sympathy, the British food shop on Greenwich Street. The shop reminded Papa of his childhood in Ghana, where all the non-perishable foods they used to buy was imported from the England. Here, he would pick up Christmas crackers, plum pudding, cheese, Cadbury chocolates and hot chocolate mix. On our last Christmas, I went to the store with him and delighted in picking up a large fishnet stocking filled to the brim with all sorts of British candies, including Smarties and Aero chocolate.

After he had finished eating his dinner – which he always ate while telling us funny stories about the store – we would all sit in the family room and watch some TV. We knew though that Christmas Eve was meant to be an early night so that all the presents could appear under the tree early morning. Off we would go to bed so that we could leave Papa Claus to work his magic.

I never saw him at work and each year, I always thought that he would get tired of doing this. But until his physical body gave out and he was unable to, he kept up this tradition, he kept going. On our last Christmas he bought all of us the most beautiful and perfect gifts—Buddha heads for me and my sister, Zen scented candles, and of course, pajamas and bath lotion.

Papa was one of those whimsical shoppers. He always bought us things that we didn’t necessarily have use for but that we would always remember. (more…)