Rock the Casbah

The holiday office party. At the Casbah. Dinner and drinks. Dolmades and falafel. Hummus and baba ganouj. Spanakopita and pita. The conversation swirls around to how exciting Madison was in the 1960s, to what dog parks we visit, to designing tattoos and to travel.

One conversation stands out from the rest. A co-worker’s wife told me about her 70-year-old mother who has most recently been in Kuala Lumpur. Her mother keeps traveling. She sleeps in bus stations. She has her pack down to 15 pounds and no more. And I thought, “She’s my kind of woman.”

It’s good to have role models for the future, to mark the point to which we’re headed, to show us that we can keep on going on our paths. For today, she is my spot on the horizon, where I want go. I have a real fear of aging. Of its limitations. Of closed doors and lost opportunities. Of endings rather than beginnings. But sometimes, there’s a crack in that door and the light shines through, and I hear about someone who delights and inspires me to look forward with energy rather than fear.

And a Thursday morning addition: After listening to half an hour of news on NPR, I realized I didn't want to start my day thinking about war, so I flipped it off, cranked Mike Doughty's Looking at the World from the Bottom of the Well, and feel much better prepared for the day after a good dance. "That Cuban girl...That brought me low...She had that skin so fine and red lips rose-like now...Her mouth was wide...And sweet as well...And now relentless hours of dreaming up her smell..."