September 17, 2021
A snapshot from Tuesday
I said to Peeko, ”Make your literary salon face!” (snaps photo).
The Tuesday literary salon is still May Ziadeh’s, not my own, that she hosted in Cairo and had to stop hosting unfairly in 1930, due to the custom then with her parents no longer living and being an unmarried woman, but now it’s going on again at my home.
This history and my own current life experience has been continuous on the blog, beginning with May 14, 2021 (Blog Archive menu at bottom of page) when I expressed in an audio post that I was sad her books didn’t seem available after I found one wonderful poem to read. And then I found the book online accidentally a few days later, and that night as I floated on the single poem resting toward sleep, I felt a soft sweep of hands on one of my ankles and then the other, with a feeling of great delight and appreciation.
Months later, I found out that May 18th (which may show on the blog as 19th as I may wake some time to fix a typo on a post at midnight) the day I came across the poetry book and opened it up online, was a Tuesday, the same day May hosted these literary salon meetings at her home and enjoyed doing so from 1912 – 1930. I didn’t know that then, but she would have.
I still pick my books to read, may contemplate an inner thought, and may share a poem I’ve written as would’ve been custom at the salon then, but it has felt that a couple of recent reads have been hand-picked as favorites suggested to me by hands of pure heaven (👑😊) including one now, to be part of a future post. 🖋
Peeko doesn’t attend the salon; he chooses to have his own private boarding school as the pupil who may decide when and if he attends lessons. He still supports the salon and its motives, as he enjoys poetry, art, and literature, especially Shakespearean verse, poems with antique grace, and pieces about birds.
After he heard me read a philosophical poem that ended with the line, “What about the birds?” he got on the window sill to hunt some of them through the glass, as shown here.
When I first started making tea at the salon, I felt like May from behind was looking from over my shoulder looking closer at the long loose leaves smirking as if to say, “Those are some fancy leaves.” And while I didn’t know then, my research confirmed that Egyptian tea gatherings have been known for steeping the shorter, more casual leaves, coined by Asian tea experts as ‘fannings’ with an emphasis on the company of the people and strong brew that smaller leaves may bring. So this could’ve been new.
And then later on, I learned that tea bags came out in stores around the world in 1908, and May would’ve been twenty two years old at the time already with this modern convenience continuing into her adult life. So with my tea pot and loose leaves I said, “See, I am very old, Baby.” 😊(An endearing joke nickname between us.)
Years later I consider I think she wasn’t calling me Baby when we’d met but badie and that was part of the joke that I’d thought she was calling me Baby and also called her Baby in my joke…
I looked up the sound and meaning, maybe? 😊🥰
I’ve also been happy to connect with Egyptian tea drinkers of our current time online, a spontaneous idea, (my fingers quickly typed ’Egyptian tea,’ clicked a group), and they have been so kind and interested in my trial and error journey to drink tea from a clear glass, their classic way of drinking, which I alternate at times that feel best with my porcelain cups that I love too, and they’ve shared many warm hearts and care bear reactions that I’ve greatly appreciated.
I am reading a recent poem of mine live online this Sunday, September 19th at this Arts event hosted by Dr. Roula-Maria Dib:
What about music? ☕️😊🎶
(lyrics: watch out, I like the first verse : explicit warning 🙏)