When I woke this morning, I felt a slight sense of panic that I might not have responded to a weeks-old email message from an online friend, a woman who stumbled across my blog more than a year ago and with whom I subsequently established an occasional email exchange. My panic subsided when I discovered that I had, indeed, responded. Though we’ve never met, I feel an emotional attachment to her; the kind of attachment one feels when there’s a sense that a person shares some of one’s personal philosophies. That kind of attachment is what led me to meet—face-to-face—Roger and Robin and Tara and Kathy (and another Kathy) and Larry and Teresa and Juan and…there may be more. While none of those people—who after encountering them through online exchanges and then meeting them in person—have become close friends, each of them has become a person I care about. Most of us stay in touch on occasion. We share intellectual and emotional attributes that tie us together. I sense that I share such commonalities with this woman. And when I learned recently that she is and has been going through some difficult personal struggles, I wished I could reach out and hug her. Or call and let her hear a friendly, comforting voice over the telephone. But we’ve never spoken and I suspect she might be reticent to give me her number or to call mine. As I mull this over, I realize I have never spoken by telephone to my other “internet-initiated” friends. So, perhaps original distance and the rarity of instances of communication make such forms of contact outmoded. Maybe communications in which spoken words are exchanged from afar are not suited to friendships created in the ether. Hmmm. I’ve thought about this sort of thing before. I still haven’t resolved it in my mind. Are “arms-length” interactions with which there are no (or, at least few) voices or “visuals” exchanged capable of morphing into friendships? Or are these types of interactions another form of engagement? Some day, I may have an answer. But for now, it’s just supposition that ebbs and flows day by day.
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The noise. Again. The noise. The sound of blood pumping through or near my eardrums. The muffled but maddening “thump, thump, thump” that offers sonic proof that my heart continues to beat away. I hear that damn noise loudest in the morning when I sit at my desk, pounding on the keyboard. While I deeply appreciate that my heart is doing its job, I wish it would not announce every throbbing beat with evidential noises.
I desire unmitigated silence. Just briefly. No sound at all. Emptiness where noise now fills my head. No noise emanating from the heating ducts. No creaks in the floor as the house settles and rebels against changes in response to temperature fluctuations. No “huffs” as my damaged pulmonary system endeavors to deliver oxygen to my bloodstream. Pure, uninterrupted silence. I want for my ears the same experience my eyes enjoy when all light from every source is blocked. If I could enjoy both experiences simultaneously, even if only for a few minutes, my gratitude would explode like a geyser’s steam suddenly freed from its underground prison. I wonder, do other people have the same experience with incessant noise? Am I alone in my sense that noise, either natural or artificial, is a permanent fixture in my ears or my mind? Or, put another way, have I gone mad? Am I insane, hearing noises where none exist? I think not. Oh, I am sure I hear the noises. And I want them to stop just long enough for me to experience nirvana. Just long enough.
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Not long after I awoke this morning, after I satisfied myself that I had not neglected to respond to an email, I explored some recipes I found online. One, in particular, caught my attention. Kibbe nayyeh—a Lebanese dish consisting of raw minced leg of lamb, herbs, spices, and bulgar wheat—looks extremely appealing to me. I have long been a fan of various raw meat dishes such as steak tartare, Ethiopian kitfo, Italian carpaccio, and another couple of Ethiopian dishes called gored gored, and tere siga. Various people have advised me against eating raw meat, but it’s my contention that properly prepared raw meat has been eaten for many centuries without killing all those who consume it. And I love the flavor. Unlike the other raw meat dishes I’ve had, though, kibbe nayyeh is made from lamb, not beef. I have never had a raw lamb dish before (except when I’ve sliced off a little chunk from a big, beautiful leg of lamb). In spite of my growing concern about the treatment of animals raised so their flesh can be consumed by humans (and other creatures), I maintain my appreciation for opportunities to eat beef. And chicken. And pork. And so on. While I think I could survive just fine as a vegetarian, I am not sufficiently motivated or disciplined to do so. Therefore, I remain an omnivore. Thus my interest in kibbe nayyeh. But where can I find very high quality (95%+ lean) lamb? That is the only obstacle that might prevent me from making and eating kibbe nayyeh. Well, I am not sure whether my sweetheart would eat it. But even if she refuses it, I would make it and consume it. It may be a perverse pride, but I am proud that I will try almost any food that others eat. The foods of other cultures, especially, interest and intrigue me. My passion for foods from foreign lands makes living in a state that amounts to a almost a cultural-food-desert a bit of a challenge. Such is life, though. “It is what it is.” 😉
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The snow from yesterday and last night remains on the limbs of trees, on bushes, and on my car in the driveway. Whether the streets are drivable or not, I doubt I’ll be going out much (if at all) today. Painting can wait. But I really should get to the post office if I can. The world will not end, though, if I do not make it to the P.O. I’ll play it by ear. Perhaps I should plan on making BLTs for breakfast this morning. Or for lunch. Something to assuage my lust for kibbe nayyeh. Maybe a BLT will do it.
