I recently checked out a book of essays by Doris Lessing from the library – a writer I am not familiar with — found by mere happenstance and selected entirely by virtue of fact that the first essay was about Jane Austen and “Pride and Prejudice,” a favorite writer and an all-time favorite book.

So I was floored when in the course of reading the book, it turns out that practically every other essay (exaggerating a bit) addresses or mentions a Persian-centric topic — ranging from Sa’adi to dervishes and Sufis, to Rumi and Ferdosi and Shanameh, to oh my God, an essay even discussing the very obscure Kalileh & Demneh!

….. While contemplating this very thought, and marveling at how I seem to be on an “All Persian All the Time” channel of consciousness, I opened the book at complete random and was greeted by this paragraph:

“It is a fact as yet unknown to science that when you tackle a new subject then suddenly it is everywhere, on the television, in the newspapers, on the radio, people start talking about it, an overheard conversation on a bus — there it is again, and a book falls open at just that relevant place.”

I mean …!!!  

………………………….

There are WORDS to go with these images. (Here.)

My father concentrating while drawing one of his patented ugly/cute charming faces.  (In a diner. Circa a few years back.)

I’m spring-cleaning my jumbled mess of iPhoto pix (totally a procrastination-fueled project) and came across this picture I took in West Village in 2008 – a day or so after news of Bernie Madoff Ponzi scheme investment scandal broke out.

Wonder where this painting is now?    There are too many pragmatic New Yorkers out there for the painting to have made it into the dumpster, but who knows.  The subject of the portrait resides in prison.  Serving a (might-as-well-be-life) 150 year sentence.

I can’t recall a single instance of encountering this word – verbally or in print – but “ruly” is actually a word. Who knew?

(The story of where the dried petals come from are here.)

Part 2 of the Egg series.

I colored nearly two dozen eggs with homemade dyes these past few weeks and took –  oh, as my little nephew might calculate –”a million trillion” pictures in the process.  I’m kind of smitten.  With the eggs, I mean.

Thus, I must warn you that many egg-centric — not to be confused with eccentric, although a dash of eccentricity is intrinsic and inevitable around here — posts and pix and animated GIFs shall be coming this way.

I’m afraid that a whole bunch of egg-puns will be par for course as well, unless I can heroically control myself.  (Be forewarned:  it is very probably a lost cause.)

So until we meet again,  I wish you well, and bid you oeuf iderzen.  (See?  I must be stopped!  Just eggzecute me already.)

ps.  I beg for a stay of execution so that I can post the directions for how to dye eggs with vegetables and other natural household ingredients to Fig & Quince.  Edited to add:  it’s done!

The other night I heard the story of how one time Itzhak Perlman broke a violin string (snap!) right in the middle of a performance. Disaster!  Audience and orchestra held their breath.  But Perlman, instead of halting the concert, changed keys, signaled the conductor to pick up the piece where they had left off, and finished playing, beautifully, with the remaining 3 strings, to a standing ovation.  He then addressed the audience and said:

A motto to embroider and ponder in the midst of malaise, stupor, or mayham.  For life.

Source of the story:  The 10 minute mark of the “Begin Again” podcast episode of the almost-always-stellar TTBOOK (one of my all-time favorite radio programs.)