Prolific Immigrant

“Faith is the daring of the soul to go farther than it can see.”
- William Newton Clarke

I used to think groundhogs were cuddly and cute, until this past weekend when I started battling mama’s groundhog.

Actually, he’s not my mother’s and I’m not quite certain it’s a ‘he’. To be fair, I’m going to give it a gender neutral name: Evil.

Evil lives beneath mama’s neighbour’s back yard deck. Between mama’s back garden and that of our neighbour, there is a fence. Through a very small and narrow area between the two fences, through which Evil comes and goes.

Last summer, mama would call me almost daily to discuss her woes. The most notable phone call came when she decided to share her Plan To Get Rid Of Evil. It consisted of her trapping Evil in a garbage bag (because it’s strong, you see) and then placing said garbage bag filled with Evil into the car and driving Evil out to a farm where she would then set him free to run wild with his groundhog mates.

Naturally, she would have done this while wearing her gardening gear, complete with sombrero, because that’s just the kind of special that defines mama.

The Plan To Get Rid Of Evil never came to pass and we are now entering another summer where Evil lives and breathes and eats all plants and vegetables.

I attempted to spend this past weekend in radio silence, while gardening. Unfortunately, that radio silence was killed by our Evangelist neighbours who blasted the “Family” radio channel which is code for: If you don’t accept Jesus as your saviour, you’re gonna burn in hell, tee-hee. I don’t think I’ve heard so many ‘His Glory’ and ‘His Mercy’ and ‘His Salvation’ and ‘His Crucifixion and ‘His Beautiful Face That I Look Upon Which Had Better Be White, Hallelujah‘ in such a short span of time. And no mention of God, either, because He’s sort of inconsequential, yeah?

Do you accept Jesus as your saviour? I do. In fact, technically, all Muslims do. Because: We believe he will come back…as a Muslim. Which isn’t so bad, right? (Better than those who still consider him an impostor so BACK OFF of Islam. OMG! Or the lunatics reading books on how to “vibrate” at a higher frequency in order to reach enlightenment. Because: This world is all about you and your enlightenment, you self-involved asshole. It has nothing to do with community or getting into the trenches and learning through living, but rather learning through disassociation.

Anyway, there I was upstairs doing something important like staring at the wall when mama shrieked “Maha! Look outside!”

Can you hazard a guess why?

Evil had returned. In all his / her glory it sat eating one of my perennials. Munch munch munching away as though he were Jesus himself (praise be!). For a few moments, Evil didn’t know we were watching and then some sort of instinct kicked in because it stopped eating, slowly lowered its paws while in tandem sneaking a peek up at the window. As soon as it spotted my mother, it let go of the perennial and ran away as fast as its fat evil a** would carry it.

Off to Home Depot I went where I spent nearly 45 minutes with three men who were discussing the best way to rid one self of a groundhog.

The first male instinct was to kill it. But apparently, that’s illegal. Besides: Just because it’s evil and it eats perennials, I can’t kill it. It’s one of God’s fat little creatures and it too needs to eat so that wasn’t an option. Fat groundhogs aren’t interested in vibrating at higher frequencies so that alone makes them admirable; Evil’s just doing what is considered naturally programmed (and so I can’t fault it for following Order).

The second, really spectacular option was for me to: Solicit one of my male friends and have him / them pee all around my garden. Evil would smell the testosterone and leave the garden alone, because it would respect that some other creature had marked that territory.
Isn’t that fun?

Third was for me to purchase a steel trap that would trap Evil. I would then drive Evil out to a farm and set him free. Really, this is a variation of Mama’s original plan only with a steel trap rather than a plastic bag. Although I sort of like Evil, I don’t really think I would be comfortable driving around with it in my car, caged or otherwise.

Fourth: Tossing a gas bomb in his burrow.

Knowing my propensity for confusion and cartooning, I would gas myself before I ever got close to Evil. (Any option that would associate me with any type of “artillery” is a natural ‘no, thank you’.)

The final option, which is what I chose, was to surround the garden with a “repellent smell”. I had two choices: coyote urine (hurrah!) or black pepper-based ‘stuff’. I chose the later and he’s not been back since, Evil.

I really do hope he doesn’t starve to death, though; will keep you posted as to this endeavour.

(Find a photo of Evil here, if it pleases you.)

P.S. Here are my first two little garden patches:

Hostas, which are bushes. Or something.

At least thirteen varieties of perennials. Inshallah over time, this little back area around the patio will expand and be filled with tons of flowers that are messy and colourful.

“random female ass”
I guess s/he was bored of the specific one they’ve carried around for the last x amount of years.

“secrets about boys every girl should know”
There’s only one secret that matters, and it is: Boys Lie.

“he she her Ibiza met attracted went ate tried liked love came over”
you him her internet bad repellant fool go away.

“HAS A NYONE WASHED THE IKEA SLIP COVERS”
I’LL TELL Y OU BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP YELLING.

“who is gerald butler’s girlfriend”
Who is geraLd butler?

“he touches my hair”
Uhm. I guess this is alright so long as (a) his hands are clean; (2) he is a friend; and, (3) he pats and does not tug or pull or twist or rip or drag.

“extra large woman absolutely no porn”
You are weird. (Absolutely no question about it.)

(I am battling with a groundhog; real actual entry coming very very soon…)

Thanks for this, Hillary: “Clinton told ABC News: “I want the Iranians to know that if I’m the president, we will attack Iran.

‘In the next 10 years, during which they might foolishly consider launching an attack on Israel, we would be able to totally obliterate them.’”

I love that! “Obliterate”. She will “obliterate” an entire country.

Less Muslims in the world. Hurrah!

Is one of the properties my (father’s) family owns in Gaza. On this land were thousands of orange, grapefruit, lemon, olive & valencia trees. We’ve owned this land for generations and it has fed and housed generations.

There are pictures of me as an infant playing and sleeping among the trees, covered head to toe in dirt.

It was where we welcomed guests; it was where my cousins and I ate fresh cactus fruit and hid from the adults.

It was there pictured my mother and my father and a newborn infant, still a happy couple.

It will always be there that my favourite picture of my paternal grandfather and I was taken; it’s a black and white photo of him seated shelling peanuts and handing them to a four year old me in bloomers and a sleeveless dress covered in flowers. I was looking at the camera squinting, smiling and waving with a fat hand because my grandfather was spoiling me.

My paternal grandfather commanded respect, not love. As an infant, the barriers paid attention to by adults meant nothing to me, though I would later grow into a teenager who was scared of this man, who held her tongue in his presence and who often wondered why he’d bothered having children.

I have become a woman who understands that the choices we make in this life define who we are, and even though his choices made him a difficult man to love, I hold on to that photo, on that land, in that summer house, and let it guide my heart when I think of this Seedo.

This past weekend, the Israeli Defence Forces went on to our property and uprooted each one of those trees.
They demolished our home.
They have left: Nothing on 100 acres of land.

There is no justification, but there is an explanation: Apart from the psychological warfare in which Israel is engaging against the Palestinians, so too does it every day engage in economic warfare. This instance is one of them. The land was viable. The land was productive and healthy and offered fruit and vegetables to Palestinians. That is reason enough for the State of Israel.

Our property is not unique, we are not to be pitied for this loss as there is nothing ‘special’ about it (only that we’ve managed to escape the bulldozers for so long); our land is one of thousands that has been raised. It will not be mentioned in history aside from a default into the land that was destroyed by the State of Israel.

Only, it is unique to us, my family; it is a part of our history and no matter the size of that tank or the size of that bulldozer, that is one thing that – try as they might – the State of Israel will never occupy or demolish.

“Stop, O people, that I may give you ten rules for your guidance in the battlefield. Do not commit treachery or deviate from the right path. You must not mutilate dead bodies. Neither kill a child, nor a woman, nor an aged man. Bring no harm to the trees, nor burn them with fire, especially those which are fruitful. Slay not any of the enemy’s flock, save for your food. You are likely to pass by people who have devoted their lives to monastic services; leave them alone.”
-Islamic rules for engaging in warfare. (My guess is that the Jewish God agrees…)

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Finally! Find all thirteen sets here…

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When I was younger, I sketched all the time. Most of my sketches were of houses made of glass. All domed, the insides of which were concrete, steel, black leather and heavy velvet draping shaded gold and deep reds. Most certainly a psychologist with nothing better to do would make something of the fact that all of the houses were fabricated of glass.

As I grew older, both the color scheme and the designs changed. Although the houses remain spacious, they have become cluttered with book shelves, Persian rugs, candles, deep sofas no longer leather covered but heavily cushioned.

Wood stoves have been added, and enormous mantle pieces placed over the newly acquired fireplaces. Within each space is the lusciousness of comfort rather than the sterility of emptiness; large single-person sofas have found their way into the kitchen, as they have into the bath area (not to be confused with the toilette area) that always situates the bather beneath a candle-lit chandelier and overlooking private green space.

For quite some time, I thought to become an architect; often still, the thought still races through my mind and is then immediately followed by ‘but what about flying a helicopter?’.

My architecture inspired dreams changed when my father – who was at different points in his career VP of two of Ottawa’s largest construction companies – told me that women architects were quite poorly treated and immensely disrespected. Construction was a man’s world and women who were involved were involved against their own welcome.

I was young and he was trying to look out for me.

If we were to have that conversation today, he would instead counsel me to ensure that I: (1) excel in an environment where the odds are against me; and, (2) not wear shirts that are so tight. If we were having that conversation today, I would have told him that precisely because my sex wasn’t welcome, I would pursue the option.

But we’re not having that conversation today.

Instead, I find myself inclined to behaving a certain way when I walk into any space…I re-imagine it. I tear down walls and erect half ones. I repaint the ceiling, widen the windows, move the bookshelf to another room and rearrange the books so that dispersed among them are photos of friends and family. I add a single reading chair to the kitchen, change the counter top, punch a hole above the sink to add a new window.

I cover the hardwood with the right rug(s) and remove the television from the living room so that people, rather than not, are the centre of attention.

I add a mud room filled with plants and a sunroof in the kitchen.

I remove closet doors and replace them with heavy draping to soften the contour of the room.

I insert a claw-footed tub and fill the bath area with pillows and candles, oils and mirrors.

I also change the curtains. Often, in fact, I change the curtains, because curtains are the Crack of any home and anyone who doesn’t know that doesn’t have a clue about space.

While this is happening in my head, it’s sunny outside and there’s music playing, usually an old and scratched Josephine Baker vinyl. The space within which I quietly reimagine, I find precious comfort, peace and calm as they are the drivers for the end result.

And so…it was with the greatest pleasure that I accepted my girlfriend’s offer to do just that, in real time, to her new home.

Another project, another chapter; more creation and art.
I am excited.

I look forward to the day when the sighting of “Jesus” is the sighting not of the European white male version of him (which, I believe is version 2.7), but of, perhaps, a man who looks a little more Semitic. A little more like Adam Sandler, Steven Spielberg, Tony Shalhoub or even Omar Sherif but with longer hair and a little wee beard, too.

But then will anyone recognize poor Hay-zeus (blessings be upon him)?

Love you.
Miss you.
Thinking of you, always.
& ready to open a can of Texan-style whup-ass on your behalf, if requested. Or just bake you a cake. Or braid your hair? Exchange most excellent photo angle tips & tricks? Buy you some Crack? Play tennis? Whatever. It’s yours.

Greatly appreciated if everyone who lived here sent their best energy toward Toronto for my beautiful Baby Jane.

xox

“The willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life is the source from which self-respect springs.”
- Joan Didion