Just a scarf?

The young woman wore a dark, long-sleeved, floor-length dress with a matching hijab. She was working behind the counter at a local store. She smiled at my wife and at me and started totalling our purchases.

This was my second contact with this young woman. She had checked me through a few days before, when I bought a large, wooden toy stove for my new granddaughter. The hijab wearing woman had asked if I would need help carrying the stove to my car and I had laughed that I was not that old. Well, I allowed, I might be that old but I wasn't that out-of-shape.

She had asked who the stove was for — a granddaughter perhaps? I had replied, "Yes." As she taped the loose parts, ensuring I would reach home with the complete stove, we had chatted. I paid, we parted and soon I was struggling through the parking lot with a stove that grew bigger and heavier with every step. I was that out-of-shape.

Driving home I thought about her head covering, her colour coordinated scarf, her hijab — a traditional headdress worn by Muslim women. But before I worked through my thoughts, I was home.

Now my wife and I were back and we had the same young woman checking us out. I think she recalled me — the foolish old man, too proud to accept help carrying an immense, heavy, wooden toy stove to his car.

My wife had a number of delicate canisters and each had to be individually wrapped to make sure they wouldn't knock together and break. As the young woman worked, she chatted with my wife and with me. She asked about our family and Christmas. She confided that her family was quite large and if they celebrated Christmas it would be one expensive festival.

The hijab, unlike the burka, does not cover a woman's face. This young woman's charming and disarming smile was not hidden. When we took our bags filled with Christmas gifts to leave, her thank you followed by the invitation to come again, had the warmth of sincerity.

I'd like to say that I treated this young woman exactly the same way that I would treat any counter person, but I didn't. I tried to be friendlier than usual. I went out of my way to not look at, and to not react to, her obvious Muslim attire.

I mentioned this to my wife and I told her how, if a Muslim family was approaching a store door immediately behind me, I would walk through and then hold the door open for them. I will wait a few moments longer for a Muslim family. I go out of my way to let Muslims see that I treat them just like I treat others.

I see my actions as my own, small way of fighting terrorism. I will not be bullied into treating my Muslim neighbours differently because of the actions of a few nasty extremist crazies living, and dying, many thousands of miles away.

My small, positive actions don't seem like much, almost nothing.

But then I think of France. Last June President Nicolas Sarkozy said, "In our country (France), we cannot accept that women be prisoners behind a screen, cut off from all social life, deprived of all identity." The burka — the all-concealing Muslim dress, with mesh covering the eyes — is "a sign of subservience, a sign of debasement," he said. " . . . it will not be welcome on our territory."

In 2004, a law banning the Islamic headscarf — the hijab — and other highly visible religious symbols from French public schools sparked heated debate. He's not smiling and ignoring the head scarf. He's not holding any doors.

Interestingly, in Tunisia — Muslim North Africa — a similar ban has been enforced and ignored in waves since 1981 when a government decree prohibited women from wearing Islamic head scarves in public places. Tunisian human-rights activists accuse authorities of depriving women of a basic freedom guaranteed by the Tunisian constitution.

Photo credit: Shahrazad. [The two images of Iranian women wearing hijabs.]

When I was in Tunisia about a decade ago I would see women walking together, some wearing hijabs, some wearing western dress, while still others in the same group wore body-covering robes hiding all, including their faces. I thought it was pretty cool.

At one point during my visit, I was able to slip into a women-only-club in downtown Tunis. Dozens of western dressed Tunisian ladies held a business luncheon from which all men were barred but for some waiters, the musicians in the band and a smooth talking Canadian photographer. How I managed smooth talk my way in using my limited high school French, I don't know.

But I do know that those women would agree with Sarkozy. They talked about how Saudi and Iranian women must wear the hijab by law and often wear the full burka, not by choice, but out of fear. These ladies might not hold the door for a woman wearing a hijab.

Confused? Me too. But, I think I'll keep smiling, chatting, and holding doors.


Addendum:

"I go out of my way to let Muslims see that I treat them just like I treat others." My wife thought this too subtle. If I go out of my way, I do not treat Muslims as I treat others. My behaviour has been changed by the events of this decade.

The picture on the left accompanied the story I wrote for the paper on Tunisia. This woman had passed on the hijab in favour of the cap and white cuffs of the Police de Circulation, or traffic cops.


For more info on Muslim dress, check out my post "Social" Networking. A lady from Iran contacted me and has added first-hand info. Ah the virtual world is a wonderful place, and that's reality.

Computer Died, Blog Stalled, Back Thursday!

I'll be back - Thursday. I have a new computer. Yeah!

Romantic Fever

Welcome!    Velkommen!     ¡Bienvenido!     Salut!      أهلا وسهلا
____________________________________________________

I can still recall the first time I even gave a thought to having a computer in the home. I was in Detroit buying nylon rode plus dacron sheets and halyards for my sailboat, stuff was cheaper in the States. I caught an Apple II ad squeezed in between the steady stream of old Motown hits.

Why would anyone, I mean anyone, want a personal computer? Talk about stupid.

Then I went to a Canadian Industries Limited (CIL) open house and visited their "computer room." It was a relatively dust-free room, no carpets, with an air conditioning system specifically installed for the computers. The room had to be cool. And it was. It had a dozen Apple IIs running something called a VisiCalc spreadsheet.

Change the number in a square, called a cell, and a wave quickly rippled across the screen as all the numbers changed. These little computers were at the heart of the London CIL operation. They calculated financial projections and complex “what if” scenarios. I was awed.

When the Mac 128 came out, I bought a computer for the home. I did it while my wife was away. I set my baby up in the kitchen on one counter top and ran cables across the narrow room to the printer on the opposite counter. The Mac had 128KB of RAM,  a 64 KB ROM, a 400 KB floppy that didn't flop, it was encased in plastic and the best thing was the screen - run the word processor software, MacWrite, and the screen was like a window on a white sheet of paper with black type. It gave a WYSIWYG image. All I could say was WOW!

There was no going back. I had seen the promised land and it was populated with computers. My Underwood sits in the garage forgotten. My early favourite film camera hasn't been out of its box in years. My darkroom is now in a dark box. My World Books no longer reflect the world and sit shelved in the basement. Computers are everywhere and do everything.

A few years ago I decided to try and learn French and so I went back to school. I did O.K. I can now read French fairly quickly. Today I loaded a new beta version of Blogger software, and if I want to blog in French it is computer easy. Select the words, click on the Define / translate icon.

To put the words into French was as easy as select, point, click, copy and paste.
Pour mettre les paroles en français était aussi facile que pointer choisir, clic, copier et coller.

Let's try translating the same words from English to Spanish.

Para poner las palabras en francés era tan fácil como seleccionar el punto,, click, copiar y pegar.

Out of curiousity, if I went from English to French to Spanish and back to English. The result?

To put words in French was as easy as pointing to select, click Paste.

It got muddled in translation and yet to err is human. Someday, they'll get the human error out of the software. For now this software reminds me of my high school girlfriend. She was from Cairo and her mother tongue was not English.

She would enter a room and "open the lights." When she asked for a favour, she would start out, "I beg of you . . . " When she arrived in Canada she was asked her medical history. Rosy had had rheumatic fever as a child and replied, "I suffered badly from romantic fever."

I do hope they have the bugs out of the software soon. "Suffering badly from romantic fever," sounded much better when Rosy said it.

Put out to pasture_they've earned a rest

Some blogs posted here have been entertaining in their own right but they also had other reasons for hanging around gathering digital dust. In the past three days they have all been checked out. Now, their work done, these blogs have been retired.

They are going to join the one and only video ever shot for posting here and which was taken down after just a day or two.

Cheers,
Rockinon

Art Rules!

If you're here to read my take on the SMarts London Social Media Un-Conference, scroll down. Sorry, but a more pressing issue has come up: Art!

And this blog will be at the top to-morrow, I'll move it, and it may grow. So, if you come tomorrow for my little follow-up to today's SMarts post, get ready to scroll again.

I don't know how anyone can get up in front of an audience and say that by the end of the week they have nothing more to share on the Net. This morning I checked where my hits are coming from, I put out a tweat and checked the Twitter feeds to which I subscribe.

I found the following tweat:
hunniebunnie
Put a snazzy new flash ellemusic player with my song "Let You In" on
http://bit.ly/1LZ05I
Come listen! :)

If that address doesn't work once removed from its Twitter home, and I bet it doesn't, try the following link:
ellemusic on MySpace

Elle is a talented London woman who is now living in Scandinavia. How I discovered her site, I really don't know. But it is just such an eclectic site with a strong patina of "art" washed over it that even though I could not care less for fashion, I visit there now and then.

Elle is not just a good writer, photographer and graphics artist, she is also a musician. I believe she had a group in her teens in London. James Reaney might know Elle. He seems to know everyone even remotely connected to the arts in London (Ontario).

At the SMarts Conference the last event was a panel discussion on free art. Does giving away artistic creations on the Net, or worst having them simply ripped off, help or hurt the artist? There were two women and two men on the panel, all with both feet placed firmly in the world of art.

The speakers all had strong positions and presented them well but the one I liked best was the feisty one - an artist named Olenka. She saw the problem very clearly, unfortunately the world does not see what she sees. Olenka was not swayed. Taking stuff for free, stuff not offered, is theft. Period! And those taking the art are thieves.

Olenka said, "Lot's of people are making money on social media and it's off our backs - you people are patsies!" Olenka is out to change the world, to change the world's perception of what it means to take stuff for free from the Net - stuff that was never meant to be free. (I would add that if the artist gives the stuff away because they feel pressured, that is a digital world mugging. "Hands up. Hand over your zeros and ones, now!")

I like it.

Elle is sharing. Fine. But we must find a way to reward our artists. They civilize our world. Without artists, it's back to the caves - but if your cave is in the south of France it won't be so bad. The cave walls there are covered with incredible art.

Shout Out to: Out of Work Young Lady Met at Conference

Please send me an e-mail and let me know how to get in touch with you and I'll see if I can find someone interested in your story but not interested in you. No name attached to story. I'd like to take a crack at helping you.


My e-mail is londondailyphoto1@hotmail.com ---- Note the number 1 after photo.


Do hope I hear from you.

Biscotti — the way to a man's heart

I love coffee. Rich, almost thick coffee, with a small whack of sugar and smoothing splash of milk — sometimes even half and half. But what truly makes a cup of coffee, for me, is something that is only dipped, temporarily into the cup, and that's my wife's biscotti.

Dried cherries, oven toasted hazelnuts and a little lemon zest all combine to make these just about perfect.

A good cup of coffee, a crisp biscotti ready for dipping, and my morning London Free Press, the perfect way to start a day.

If you'd like to try making my wife's biscotti you'll need:

4 cups (1 l) all-purpose flour
2 tsp (10 ml) baking powder
1/2 tsp (2 ml) salt
Grated lemon zest from 1 lemon
1 cup (250 ml) sliced hazelnuts lightly toasted in the oven or in a dry frying pan
4 large eggs
1 1/2 cups (225 ml) granulated sugar
1/2 cup (125ml) vegetable oil
1 tbsp (15 ml) lemon juice
1 tsp (5 ml) vanilla extract - use the real stuff and not vanillin
1 cup (250 ml) dried cherries

1. Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C)

2. Line a large baking pan with parchment paper.

3. In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder,salt, lemon zest and hazelnuts.

4. Using a KitchenAid stand mixer, beat eggs until fluffy and a light coloured.

5. Slowly beat in sugar, then oil, lemon juice and vanilla.

6. Slowly add flour mixture and stir until dry mixture is nearly absorbed.

7. Finally, stir in dried cherries.

8. With water-moistened hands divide dough in half and form each into a loaf about 15 inches (38 cm) long and 4 inches (10 cm) wide on a baking sheet. Keep loaves at least 2 inches (5 cm) apart.

9. Bake from 35 to 40 minutes or until small cracks are visible and tops are golden.

10. Slice loaves onto a large cutting board and cut crosswise into 1/2 inch (1 1/4 cm) thick slices. If the knife blade becomes sticky, wipe with a damp cloth.

11. Stand slices upright and about 1/2 inch (1 1/4 cm) apart on baking pan.

12. Reduce oven temperature to 300°F (150°C) and bake 30 to 35 minutes or until biscotti are dry to the touch.

13. Remove from oven and cool on baking sheet sitting on a rack.

14. When completely cool, store in airtight containers.

This should make about four dozen biscotti. This is enough for more than three weeks if you share them with your partner and you both show proper restraint.

Cheers,
Rockinon