Marrakesh: and a tale of a Scary Party

He was turning 12 and he was too cool for school.  I don't want a Halloween party, Mom, he said.  I want a Scary Party.  No costumes, just scary.  

Oh, I said.  Okay, I said.  

Well, his sister disagreed.  And promptly became Cleopatra.  

And she found a goblin

 to do her bidding.  

In baskets, there were shrouds.....

for wrapping mummies.

Of course, there were those who refused embalming.

Guests were forced to eat poison apples with their hands tied behind their backs.

The only antidote could be found in eyeball cupakes (ahem, real eyeballs, of course).

There was a tug of war with visiting ghouls...

Before dinner was cooked on the firey embers of hell.

And then a viewing of The Mummy in the Peacock Pavilions outdoor cinema.  A bonfire was roaring and there was much toasting of marshmellows.

Guests were given handmade CDs with extra scary music as favors.

But the scariest part at this Scary Party was that the girls were wearing bras.   (I'm in so much trouble, I can see it now!)  Not to mention that the birthday boy was given fake cigarettes as a birthday gift (?!).  What if....what if one day they're real?

Marrakesh: and a tale of reflection on what we leave behind

A close friend of mine was just diagnosed with cancer.  Oh.

It made me think of just how very fragile this life is. How anything could happen at any time.  How bad things happen to good people.  

It also made me wonder what we leave behind when it's all said and done.  How people will remember us, the things they will say, the stories they will tell.  About me, about you. When we're just a picture on the wall.

And I realize that I'm falling short of the person that I want to be.  That I fail myself in many ways, day after day.  A cutting remark, an impatient look, an unfulfilled promise.  

It seems, this work in progress has raggedy edges.  

I aspire to grace, I aspire to generosity, I aspire to kindness. I have my moments -- shiny and effortless.  But then, I stumble and fall.  I don't write the letter, I don't reach out the hand, I don't give up the grudge whose sense evaporated long, long ago.    

And so I'm vowing to try harder to become the person that I want to be.  The person worth remembering in big and small ways.  And soon.  Oh, soon.  Before it's me to whom the doctor turns and says, I have bad news.  And I'm confronted with the cold truth that a paper hospital gown is poor protection for what lies underneath. 

You and me: and a tale of the Get Fit Challenge

Dear friends,

I still remember when the doctor told me -- told me I had diabetes.  That was ten years ago.  I had gestational diabetes when pregnant with my son and it went away when he was born.  And I had it again when pregnant with my daughter. But then {oh why?} it didn’t go away. And suddenly, there I was: a young woman with a forever kind of illness. 

The doctor dispassionately ticked off on her fingers the risks if the diabetes was not treated: eye disease, heart disease, kidney disease, obesity and {oh!} premature death.  And then she looked at her watch.  {She had another patient, you see.}  But as she walked out the door, she said, Remember to eat right and exercise, and you’ll be okay.  And then she was gone. 

I’ve already decided to live until I’m 100. (There’s a lot on my To Do list.)  So whether I like it or not, I’ve had to follow the advice of that doctor with the poor bedside manner.  Although I love food, I try to stick to a diabetic diet on most days.  And exercise?  Well, I wanted to talk to you about that.  In fact, I wanted to talk to you about you and me and exercise.  I was thinking that the three of us could do something together. 

This past August, I started the Get Fit Challenge.  It was a way of keeping me committed and accountable to regular exercise.  And I asked other people to do it with me and a bunch of them do.  The Get Fit Challenge is great because even though it’s firm (a set number of one hour workouts every month) it’s totally flexible (you can do whatever exercise you like and on any days you wish).  We support each other on Twitter {I'm @MyMarrakesh}.  If you’re not on Twitter, you can join in a flash and if you’re already on Twitter, well, then, that’s perfect, isn’t it?  

The October Get Fit Challenge is almost over but the November Get Fit Challenge is just around the corner.  So I thought that maybe you’d like to hop on and join.   Do you want to look great and feel even better?  Or maybe, live to be 100?  {I need some old age type friends to hang around with when I’m 95 and heading off to Tibet or Rio on vacation.} 

Email me at moroccanmaryam{AT}yahoo.com and I’ll hook you up with the Get Fit Challenge template and rules.  {Oh just do it.  You know you should.} And please spread the word.

With love,

Maryam in Marrakesh

Image by Anna Wang in my Moroccan dining tent at Peacock Pavilions.

PS So so gratified by the number of emails in my inbox signing up for the Get Fit Challenge!  *Amazing*.  Why don't you be one, too?

Marrakech: and a tale of Moroccan boucharweit carpets and rugs

Almost nothing gets wasted, nothing. A woolen sweater with holes is unraveled and made new.  Old tires are reconfigured and turn into chic baskets.  Oil drums get a fresh coat of paint and become modern tables. Repurposing, recycling, upcycling.   Morocco was green before there was Green.  Waste?  No, No, and, well, No.

And so it is with the Moroccan boucharweit carpets, or Moroccan rag rugs.  Tired clothes awake from their slumber.  Ugly scraps get a beauty makeover.  And empty floors are cozied up in a wink of an eye.  

And then there's the color. {Oh!} And then there's the pattern. {Oh!} And then there's the texture. {ahem, you get my point.}  

A new collection of Moroccan boucharweit carpets in Red Thread Souk.  Just perfect for making you smile as wide as you can smile and stretching your arms out as far as they can go {the latter for no apparent reason}.  Because these are the original happy rugs.  

The shy, the meek, the demure had best now avert their eyes.  But as for the others, well........

hold onto your horses!

See them all here in my shop, Red Thread Souk.