The world didn’t have Facebook to trigger virtual solidarity on 9/11, but on 11/9 an air of mourning reverberations engulfed my newsfeed. I had survived 7+ nonstop hours of watching CNN and munching on maamoul with 15 pro-Hillary and/or anti-Trump-ists agog to see the status quo upheld or at least the exacerbation of social strife obviated. I witnessed an epic decrescendo of hope and energy emanating from the stunned faces of my party guests as their glazed eyes stared into oblivion and despondency—as if they were listening to Ravel’s Bolero in reverse—and the supposed-to-be celebratory cheesecake hid unfulfilled in the freezer hours after everyone departed. At 8 a.m. I finally gave in and took a power-nap before heading to class. When I awoke, a glimmer of hope bounced through my mind trying to convince me that it was all a dream...
Jordan
The bumpy road to Jerash
On a sunny summer afternoon I was cruising home from a paradisiacal day trip to Half Moon Bay in a much-too-beautiful ibis white Audi S5 Cabriolet. While I idled at a stoplight, a sudden force whiplashed me from behind and despite my attempt to maneuver in a daze, a second impact jolted sharply from the front...
Welcome to Amman!
After successively watching 4 in-flight videos, I suddenly found myself roaming a bustling terminal in Charles de Gaulle and pondered heading to downtown Paris to burn some layover heures: maybe indulge in pain au chocolate for brunch and discreetly do some people watching at the pont des arts where lovers lock away their secrets and dispose of the keys in the Seine...
Independent Musings 