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"A friend asked yesterday if this blog is addressed to anyone in particular? I said yes– it’s a love letter to someone I haven’t met yet."
CarrollBlog 09.11
Nokia recently released a cellphone that costs over a thousand dollars. Cool metal case, unique ringtones, blah blah. It's got to have some different features to merit costing a thousand dollars. I'd seen it in magazines but never in real life. One of those obscure objects of desire you look at in life's display window and marvel at, but never go in to the store to actually buy because for god's sake, who spends a grand on a phone? In the cafe this morning a good looking, chic'ly dressed Oriental woman about 25 sat waiting for her order when I walked in. On the table in front of her were a set of keys and two of these thousand dollar phones. My eyes widened when I realized what was there and I immediately took a closer look at her. Streaked hair, black outfit, some understated jewelry here and there. One of phones rang and answering she began conversing in English. She could easily have been a living Nokia ad for this phone. A few moments later, the waitress brought over her order-- 4 pieces of the gooiest, whipped creamiest, cholesterol bomb sweeties on earth. I am not exaggerating. Malakofftorte, cremeschnitte... the kind of cake you eat one piece of a year and feel guilty about for weeks. She had ordered four. While speaking, she cut off a chunk of the gooiest of all and slid it into her small mouth. The expression on her face never changed
CarrollBlog 09.08
An old friend came to Vienna and we had a few hours visit together. He works as a "death investigator" in California and always has awful, wondrous stories to tell about his job. He knows I love to hear them so he loads me up every time we see each other. Yesterday he was talking about suicides, which he sees a lot of in a year. He said that male suicides in general are sloppy affairs. When the police get to a man's home, it is usually a mess-- three days worth of empty beer cans and pizza boxes, dirty clothes strewn all over the place, sometimes much more disgusting things which indicate the guy decided to go on one last slobby binge before turning out the light for the last time. In contrast, most women who commit suicide are generally extremely tidy and orderly about it. They clean the house before they do the act. They dress well and often put on makeup, carefully place suicide notes in plain site so they will be easily found, etcetera. He described one suicide scene which was almost astonishing in its spic and span-ness. The woman had done the cleaning, dressed neatly, written and strategically placed suicide notes to all people concerned (her children, the police,etc.) Her chosen method was to hang herself. Apparently this is not as ghastly a way to go as you think if done correctly. The woman had tied a rope in a hangman's noose and to further help the police, described where on the Internet she had found the information describing this particular knot.
CarrollBlog 09.06
"A few years ago, a young taxi driver drove me to John F. Kennedy Airport on Long Island. After a few minutes of conversation, I discovered that Mike had belonged to my synagogue years before I came to the community.
"So, rabbi," he asked while we sat in heavy traffic, "what do you say to a Jew like me who hasn't been in a synagogue since his bar mitzvah ceremony?"
Thinking for a moment, I recalled that in Hassidic lore, the baal aqalah (the wagon driver) is an honored profession. So I said, "We could talk about your work."
"What does my work have to do with religion?"
"Well, we choose how we look at the world and at life. You're a taxi driver. But you are also a piece of the tissue that connects all humanity. You're taking me to the airport. I'll go to a different city and give a couple of lectures that might touch or help or change someone. I couldn't have gotten there without you. You help make the connection happen.
"I heard on your two-way radio that after you drop me off, you're going to pick up a woman from the hospital and take her home. That means that you'll be the first non-medical person she encounters after being in a hospital. You will be a small part of her healing process, an agent in her re-entry into the world of health.
"You may then pick up someone from the train station who has come home from seeing a dying parent. You may take someone to the house of the one that he or she will ask to join in marriage. You're a connector, a bridge builder. You're one of the unseen people who make the world work as well as it does. That is holy work. You may not think of it this way, but yours is a sacred mission."
Jeffrey K. Salkin
from "Being God's Partner"
CarrollBlog 09.05
We were sitting outdoors at a cafe at the Naschmarkt enjoying each other's company and the late summer day. The beggar in the pink shirt came up and started mumbling. I wasn't really paying attention because she was talking and saying something very interesting that I wanted to hear. Finally it dawned on me someone was close over my shoulder.I looked up and saw him standing there with his hand out and smiling. He was an eerie looking man because he had a round face and,at first glance,warm and friendly eyes. But when you looked a moment longer you saw they weren't. His eyes were sly and intelligent. His dislike was physically palpable. He was begging for money but he didn't like you. I said no. He looked okay-- he was young and wearing clean clothes-- that new pink t-shirt, modish sneakers, a woolen hat. He continued to speak, to mumble. I couldn't understand what he was saying so I said "No" a little louder. He stopped and this time said quite clearly to me "That's what you say, but maybe that's not what she says." He looked across the table and smiled at her as if the two of them were somehow in cahoots. In her light but distinctive voice she said "No!' much more forcefully than I had. The man's eyes narrowed like Smiegal (is that how you spell it?) in LORD OF THE RINGS and he skulked away, again mumbling to himself.
CarrollBlog 09.01
While walking this morning, I was thinking about sea glass and what an extraordinarily good metaphor it is for what we all hope for in life. When it was created and initially used, the glass had no value. It was part of a greenish Coke bottle, a brown wine bottle, olive oil, or a blue drinking glass. Nothing of importance. Use up the contents and throw the bottle away. Somehow or other the glass broke and its pieces were scattered. This one ends up in the ocean. For a long time, maybe even years, it lives there being tossed and tumbled, roiled here and there by the whims of the sea. It's not a good life, but it manages to keep afloat. All the time it's in there however, its sharp edges are being worn away by the water's constant movement. The violence of storms, the bleaching sun, saltwater... all of them transform it. Eventually it gets washed up on a beach somewhere. It is the same glass it once was but also something new. Not entirely but almost. The color has been burned away by the sun and the acid sea, making the glass more translucent, ethereal, and lovely. It has no more edges. But without them it has taken on a shape, a form, that is often singular and one of a kind. Sooner or later someone comes by and notices it. They are immediately attracted. They love it for what it has become. Often they take it home and in some cases, even turn it into a piece of jewelry. Something they treasure.