Mr. Lucky Foot

One of my secret names is Mr. Lucky Foot. What does that mean you may ask, well let me tell you in simple, plain, clear and concise English, the language of barbarians.

It means wherever I go and pause to meet people; like shopkeepers, merchants in Venice, rest-a-rant owners and various non-descript sad, lonely, neurotic and well adjusted humans struggling to find their personal way inside the labyrinth, when I show up, because 90% of life is Showing Up, their day, life and fortune changes. For the better. It happened in the Middle KIngdom and it's happening in Asia Minor.

Take yesterday for example. I wandered through a gleaming atrium filled with your standard array of badly dressed silver bald dressed dummies fronted by glass, screaming ineffective indifferent bored mistresses out on good behavior and pram wheeled infants.

I happened into a shop hidden well behind the "upscale" zones where, to my delight, I discovered five varieties of carved chess sets; Roman, Ottoman, Egyptian, English football motif, and the Middle Ages. All the sets were realistic and well done. The game of kings. The owner also had sizable sculptures of Black jazz musicians; sax, trumpet, clarinet, keyboard, drums, singers and electric guitar. He also had a good selection of Swiss Army knives. Sharp and to the point.

Anyway, so, at first it's just the two of us, talking and drinking tea. Then a couple of university girls arrived, bought Zippo lighters for gifts and left. They were followed by boys looking for lighters. Then a well dressed man, maybe 60, in a worn beige leather jacket came in with a school boy, wanting a lighter and pen. Simple tools. Another man followed them standing nearby. He looked Russian or Tartar; thick neck, alert eyes, short hair, and stocky in a light brown suit with expensive wing tips. He clasped his meaty hands together watching the man negotiate with the owner. He was the bodyguard and he never moved.

We made brief eye contact. He swiveled his gaze back to the man and boy. There was a problem with the credit card transaction. The man reached into his right leather pocket, pulled out a cell phone and called his bank. He spoke a few words and disconnected. The owner punched in numbers and the sale went through.

Satisfied, the man took his purchase and we spoke - How do you like it here? What is your job? Where are you from? His gray eyes were meticulous and direct. We shook hands then he and the boy left. The bodyguard slid out the door close behind.

"Who do you think he was?" I asked the owner as we resumed drinking tea.
"Maybe the boss of a big organization, maybe a bureaucrat. Well connected. I never saw him before."

More people entered his shop.
"Goodbye," I said.
"You brought me good luck today," he said. "You have a lucky foot. Thanks."
"Perhaps. You're welcome."

Make a blood donation

Ah, the great feeling of donating blood. When you travel you give. Giving blood is giving the gift of life. As I have learned from experience, a wonderful little teacher, for the last twenty odd years, giving blood helps someone who needs it more than me.

I have A- which is fairly rare. So, last century, I started donating and yesterday allowed me to donate. The blood mobile is parked downtown near a busy intersection. You walk down the street past pretzel sellers, cascading water fountains, statues of frozen soldiers firing rusty iron guns into cobalt skies and get on the bus.

A smiling nurse from Bulgaria asks you health questions in broken English. Another nurse takes your blood pressure. She attaches a tourniquet to your left arm and says, "You have excellent veins."

She swabs the vein and slides the needle in. Open and close your left hand. Blood flows.

Outside the tinted windows parents hold hands with their children in blinding sun. Scraggly faced men unload boxes of fresh red tomatoes from a white truck. Sunglasses on pedestrians reflect light. Teams of boys fold and crush cardboard boxes in their salvage operation and load them on metal rolling carts. Recycle sales potential.

Sad, oh so serious SAD looking businessmen carry their briefcases filled with secrets. Such a heavy burden.

Blood flows. A little gift.

Chasing the Moon

We are all extras in someone's film.

Meanwhile, on the overnight "A" train;
oceans, seas, oil freighters,
gas flames light sky
burning the moon.
solitary sea gull air relationships,
rolling along
click-clack-click-clack

a woman closes her drapes,
below her blindness
along deserted street
two veiled lovers hold hands
cherishing shadows
escaping the tyranny
of their mutual expectations

long low train whistle blast
distant village, lights,
long haul semi illuminates a ribbon

small early stations,
fenced, barbed wire enclosures
sad long faced men staring at the ground
waiting
for life
for their day to unfold
like some precious flower

istanbul commuter ferry water
visions of mosques, spires, domes
waves churning blue
water sky
elemental light

all the moon glows song
sleepless dreams released
under heavy green and purple grapes
delicious and sweet

How am I supposed to feel?

The articulate kid in his second year of medical school at the university was talking about his career choice.

"How am I supposed to feel when I see these patients?"
"It's a question of finding balance, perspective."

"Yes," he said, "I am one of them. I am a patient. It's hard being a doctor. I don't know enough to help them. I am learning from more experienced students and doctors."

"What do they tell you in the emergency room when you help them?"
"They tell me to wait, how I will learn how to keep my perspective over time."

"What do you do to relax?"
"I go out with my friends to a club. I go to movies. I want to forget about all the terrible things I have seen at the hospital."

"But," he continued, "I am happy being a doctor. When someone puts on the white coat they feel special. They help people. I thought about becoming an engineer like my father but I saw how he only works with machines, how at the end of the day he would come home and talk about electricity. It was interesting but I wanted more out of life. I wanted to understand DNA and genetic structures. I wanted to help others."

"I see," said the blind man.

"Being a doctor is hard. I don't know how I am supposed to feel."

BIG Time

One curious phenomena here in the land of Turnkey is BIG Time. It is predominant, predictive and highly fashionable. BIG Time is displayed in a wide variety of large grandiose opulent design styles, colors and assorted analog displays. You can't miss the huge pieces of Time displayed on wrists with panache and glamour.

Frequent sightings include super sized chromatic sundial devices featuring a weight lifter because, for the majority of wage slaves, Time is a heavy burden.

Their second hand laconically sweeps piles of debris stranded on corners past extremely bored women studying their undulating reflection between numerals 12 and 6.

A wild rabbit dragging a pocket Watch Out! ran down Dream Time Street yelling, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, no Time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

The rabbit passed Mr. Historian holding out his hat.

"What are you doing?" said Mr. Rabbit.
"I am begging people to give me their wasted hours."