Daddy cool...

That is the name of a Bonny M song of the seventies... It was my favorite song when I was tiny, because I thought that it was written for my dad. I had my own private Daddy Cool, indeed.

Vati would get me up in the morning, and prepare me for school. He would watch--from the window of his bedroom, up on the third floor--my steps towards primary school, two blocks down. At that same place, I would spot his face on my way back home every day. It was Vati who would prepare lunch or take me to a restaurant, to indulge in special treats. In the afternoons, he would sometimes take me to a Cafe--one on every corner--or to play pool. On those special occasions, I would stand on a soft-drink box to reach the pool table.

I remember one day in winter. Daddy was trying to fit my short, red, curly hair into tiny, almost unexistent pig-tails. I was already wearing my coat, ready for the street, facing the window, while Daddy was sitting on the edge of the bed, achieving the impossible. I asked if he would always be with me. He said that he would do his best--but that life and death were not in his hands. I cried looking into the gray winter sky. I thought that I would die before him, so as to be spared the pain.

Vati would turn 82 today. He has been gone for more than 16 years now. In total, we shared only 11 years. The last time I saw him, he said: What are all those years compared to eternity? Only a glimpse, a moment. Don't feel sad because of the time we are not together...

I still remember his soft and serene voice. And I still look forward to eternity.

But I no longer have pig-tails.

In awe...

...after walking in the sun, gazing at ancient monumental structures in Luxor.

The Racoon says that we all must have belonged to this magnific culture, at some point during our endless coming and going through time and space. I am breathless. It is so stunningly beautiful. The color of the desert, and of the sun when it hits the desert-shaded stone. The overwhelming size, the overwhelming history. The stories of lives past and gone, of cultures buried in the sand.

This is one of the trips I had on my list of ten most-wanted life experiences. Karnak, Luxor, the Valley of the Kings. We could not go to Abu Simbel and Alexandria. And we did not spend a night in the Sahara. This means that half of the dream is still out there, waiting to be lived.

But the beginning, if we could dare call it that, has been astounding.

We are just tiny particles in the history of life, a tiny kernel of sand in the midst of the Sahara...

Got Beer?

This is hilarious! And it might as well be true, at least in terms of the positive effects of beer... Of course, the negative ones are conveniently forgotten.

But I LOVE Peta!!! In my next life, I definitely want to be a radical, unforgiving PETA activist, spraying with green paint the fur coats on the Upper East side, rallying against experiments on animals, and just stubbornly confronting people that believe that animals are here for us, at our disposal.

Meanwhile, I am getting ready for yet another plane... Egypt is waiting.