Saturday, April 28, 2007

Do you ever feel like saying ...

“Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once; just once, understand.”
Don't know who owns these words, but lets just say they belong to us all.

An International Group


By Duda

What does a group composed of a Korean woman, another from the Philippines, and one more from Africa/Europe do with their younglings? Well, first they speak English very slowly, their common language. Accents abound, and the meetings become English practice time for some. Then, we have an International picnic. Yum.

Pai


Dad never leaves even though he has.

by Duda

Friday, April 27, 2007

Summers past

by Ana

Furadouro, Ovar, Portugal

I lived on that beach the entire summer of 1976. Culture shock levels were still high, but living 100 meters from the beach was memorable. We were one of two groups of the extended offspring that had set roots in Mozambique. Everything about Portugal was different from Beira. I still remember the only black man in town. I suspect I was in denial about the permanence of the exodus from Mozambique. I learned to think of Furadouro as a piece of my family's history. I hold on to stories of the fishermen bringing in fish that supplied my grandmother's business, the smell of salt coming from the long vacant tanks in the "armazem". The cemetery was the final resting place of a long line of Troias. In Ovar I saw more elderly than ever before. Most of the family never left there. And me? Do I belong to one part of the world?

Saturday, April 21, 2007

The Ocean

Guido Fulgenzi

Sounds I love? The ocean.
The small fountain down the street, ment to attract birds, will have to do, as water sounds go.

Friday, April 20, 2007

The end of the day

One of life's pleasures is the experience of being so sleepy that my eyes can no longer stay open. In the dark, surrounded by pillows, I enter bliss.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

My beloved




by Duda
I can only describe my relationship to trees like this: they are alive, life giving, and I always feel more calm around them. In Mozambique, they became a part of our many games. They were hiding places when we played "escondidas", or, their trimmed branches on the ground were carefully molded into bows and arrows for a game of cowboys and indians. We climbed the big cashew tree that led to the roof of our house, or made a uniquely designed seesaw out of an almost horizontal coconut tree. Fruit trees were everywhere, peaches, figs, goiava, papaya, lemons, guarana, and mangos. In AZ, I have been a part of helping to sustain 4 trees from young small things to majestic creatures that enrich my life everyday.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Books and Culture


I experienced a book festival first hand. It was another long standing item on my To Do list and when I learned of the Arizona Book Festival, I marked my calendar and I eagerly awaited the day. I enjoyed the books, bought some, and was amazed at the many publishing houses present. I saw an Hispanic book seller I met at Dia de los Muertos at the Botanical Garden. Met another Hispanic author, Kathy Cano Murillo, whose book, above, I had purchased earlier. I find the Hispanic culture to be so rich and full, and I gravitate to anything remotely connected with that.
In Mozambique, children of Colonial parents had a pretty unique take on life. We weren't fully from there, nor were we Portuguese. The experience of learning of our parents' culture, often from stories, made me aware of how, what I call Culture, is like a mist permeating one's existence.

Musical notes


On a Saturday morning drive, listening to NPR, I'm introduced to Macy Gray. Odd, unusual voice indeed. But I like the odd and unusual. She's here.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Thursday, April 12, 2007

A trip to Sprouts

by Duda


Yum! We work on the "color = certain type of nutrient ' concept when teaching young ones the importance of eating vegetables.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Feliz Pascoa

by Duda

Growing up in Mozambique, away from the majority of my extended family, I learned the art of letter writing early. It was one of the few things my Mom shared so well with me. I still remember asking her if everyone should be addressed as Excelentissima Senhora, etc. I have saved most of the letters and cards I have received in my life time. Letters are all I have left of some loved ones, including my father. Anyhow, I send cards to my family now, some made by me some not. These went to my nieces and nephew, with loving thoughts infused in the ink. That's how I like to visualize the love web thing.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Everything waits to be noticed...

by Guido Fulgenzi

... with ambivalence in some cases. I, for instance, do best when under the radar of potential criticism. I've concluded that I am usually in the moment, privately savoring my accomplishments, especially when I know I have just stretched a boundary. Recognition is important to me only if it allows me to continue the "doing", or increases resources and people to engage in conversation with.

Supporting the arts - lets count the ways...

A writer, a musician, and a photography lover get together to start an arts council with the goal providing resources for local students in their arts endeavours. There's no better way to learn the process of creating a non-profit group, and how to put on a festival. Creating is spirit filling.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Be one with the horse

by TS

There I was, finally ready to get on a horse. I kept thinking about the place in NJ where I didn't get to ride one, but where I decided I would one day. That was 20 years ago. I started chattering as I do when I my adrenaline levels go up. I decided that I must do something to make this thing go smoothly. "BE ONE WITH THE HORSE", said I, out loud, so I could hear it from inside and out. In my oneness with Pipi Long Stocking, the horse who seemed in constant hurry, I learned the rhythms on this new form of movement. I conquered a piece of the desert in a line with 9 other people. That's living!


Chocolate Chip Mint and Coffee ice cream





pics by Duda

Ice cream was a very, very, rare treat for us growing up in Mozambique. The ice cream man and his bicycle came ringing his bell. We might be lucky that Sunday and get one. I liked orange. Chocolate chip mint on a sugar cone became my favorite soon after arriving in the US. This one is an old fashion ice cream parlor in Old Tucson Studios.