Ray Stone's Blog: A blog for everyone, page 16
March 10, 2015
Some sound advice
Forward to a friend
March 2015
In This Issue
Author Spotlight
eBook Formatting
New and Old School Networking
Writing Tip: Don’t be Afraid to Cut
You Are an Artist
Marketing Tip: Are You Making the Most of Your Email Signature?
Tips & Tricks
Get the Best Image Quality in Your Finished BookDo you know how to make sure the images you present in your finished book will look their best? You can keep a few best practices in mind when you’re preparing your file.
Learn more
CreateSpace
Community
Author Spotlight
Dear Indie Authors
Need a little pick-me-up for a new writing day? Here are some encouraging messages from fellow indie authors.
Featured Resource
eBook Formatting
Whether handling your own eBook conversion or purchasing a service to get some help, you want to make sure the print and digital versions of your book provide a consistent reading experience. CreateSpace offers a Kindle conversion service to ensure your eBook reflects your print interior layout and design as closely as possible.
Building Your Brand
New and Old School Networking
By Richard RidleyI’m about to go old school on you, but if it helps, I throw in a new school twist at the end.
Social media is great. You connect with hundreds if not thousands of people you otherwise wouldn’t have the opportunity to connect with because distance is not an issue. It is also a great networking tool for introverts, making it the perfect way for most writers to build their brand. There is no doubt about it, social media is practically tailor-made for authors to get the word out about their books.
Creating Content
Writing Tip: Don’t be Afraid to Cut
By Maria MurnaneIn my first job out of college, one of my assignments was to co-write an opinion piece for my boss. (In this case, “co-write” meant “write.”) He told me the points he wanted to make, and my role was to turn those ideas into a clear, readable argument that a prominent magazine in our industry would accept. Both of us would get the byline, so I was excited!
Featured Blog
You Are an Artist
By Richard RidleyYou are not just a writer. You are an artist. If you create, you dabble in the arts. There is just no escaping it. So, what are you doing to build your brand as an artist in your local community?
Marketing Your Work
Marketing Tip: Are You Making the Most of Your Email Signature?
By Maria MurnaneFor quite some time now, I’ve been recommending that authors use their email signatures as an indirect way to promote their work. Apparently a lot of you are taking my advice, because almost all the emails I get these days from authors mention their book(s) in their email signatures.
Read more
To access your CreateSpace account, simply log in or join today for free.
Privacy Policy | Unsubscribe
BM315
CreateSpace
4900 LaCross Road, North Charleston, SC 29406
Copyright © 2000 – 2015, CreateSpace, a DBA of On-Demand Publishing, LLC.
March 9, 2015
Azadeh Nafissi gets the taste buds working
From my fellow author, journalist and great friend Azadeh Nafissi who lives in Paris and is trying hard to make my mouth water. Read and enjoy.
Taste of a Culture: Top 10 Persian Dishes in Paris
Food and culture are strongly interconnected, and regional cuisine shapes a significant part of any culture. Cuisine is an outstanding way to represent a culture abroad and you will be amazed by the number of Persian restaurants and bakeries in the heart of Paris. Marvelously, these delightful spots provide their customers with a window to a faraway land. Here are top 10 Persian dishes and where you can try them in Paris. Bon appétit!
Ghormeh Sabzi | © pardisfood.caGhormeh Sabzi
Ghormeh Sabzi is one of the most popular stews among Persian dishes. It consists of various types of green herbs, beans, vegetables and meats, and the mixture of omani lemon with aromatic herbs create the marvelous unique taste of this dish. According to different chefs’ preferences, the dish can be feature lamb or chicken and served with saffron rice and wine. If you are planning to go out for dinner and order a different dish, Shabestan is the best place to try Ghormeh Sabzi. The restaurant is located in Avenue de Versaille, very close to La Seine and Parc Saint Périne.
Shabestan, 38 Avenue de Versailles, 75016 Paris, France
Mirza Ghassemi
Mirza Ghassemi is an eggplant dip which originally comes from north of Iran. Although it is mostly served as an appetizer or a side dish, many people enjoy it as their main dish with pieces of pita bread, or saffron rice. This mouthwatering dish consists mainly of eggplant, smashed garlic, tomato and fried egg with tomato paste and olive oil topping. Mazeh located at 15th district, not far from La Seine and Parc André Citroën, is one of the best places to try this tasty dish. The restaurant provides a cozy ambience to sit there and enjoy your food or if the weather is good you can easily walk to the Seine and have your meal by the river.
Mazeh, 65 Rue des Entrepreneurs, 75015, Paris, France
Baghali Polo
Baghali Polo is one of those luxurious and classic dishes you should try at least once in your life. Rice ‘polo’ is delicately cooked with herbs, saffron, vegetables and chopped broad beans. Traditionally, this delicious dish is served with roasted lamb, but you may also enjoy it with other meats like chunks of chicken or turkey. In Paris, there are many restaurants which serve this tasty dish but the chef at the gorgeous JetSet restaurant cooks up an authentic and tasty version. Located in rue Washington, very close to Avenue de Champs-Elysées, the restaurant has a very pleasant ambience and provides oriental music as well.
Jet Set, 14 Rue de Washington, 75008 Paris, France
Kebab
Kebab is the most famous Persian dish in Iran and abroad. In order to achieve its authentic flavor, any type of kebab must be cooked on hot coal. Beef, lamb and chicken are the most common meats used for making kebab. The meats are marinated, and then grilled on skewer over hot coal and served with powdered sumac, rice or bread. A lovely spot to have this traditional dish is Chez Elham, as it specializes in kebabs. The restaurant is located in one of the most central neighborhoods in Paris, close to Châtelet and centre Pompidou.
Chez Elham, 11 Rue de la Reynie, 75004 Paris, France
Colbeh © justacote.comFesenjan and Salad Shirazi
Fesenjan is a pomegranate flavored stew with a soft and tangy texture. There are many regional variations of the recipe but, traditionally, it consists of smashed walnut, meatballs and quince. The sour and sweet taste of the stew, enriched with fragrance of saffron rice, makes it one of the loveliest recipes among Persian dishes. Salad shirazi is an excellent accompaniment to the dish, featuring ingredients like cucumber, tomato, and onion, chopped as tiny as possible and mixed with olive oil, lemon or vinegar. Colbeh is one of the most affordable restaurants in Paris which offers a delicious Fesenjan with Salad Shirazi. The restaurant is located in touristic area of rue Mouffetard and Quartier Latin and you will enjoy walking around before or after your meal.
Colbeh, 22 Rue Mouffetard, 75005 Paris, France
Baklava
Baklava is called queen of the sweets as it is a very rich sweet pastry. Different regions make their own baklava, but the most stylish one is Baklava of Yazd. Layers of filo are filled with chopped nuts like pistachio or almond, and then covered with honey. Although many restaurants serve Baklava with tea or coffee as dessert, you can find the best one in bakeries. Look for Shirinkam in 6th district, near to Odéon and Palais du Luxembourg to find an authentic and delicious taste of baklava.
Shirinkam, 4 Rue Lobineau, 75006 Paris, France
Baghala Ghatogh
Baghala Ghatogh is a garlicky stew that originally comes from Northern provinces in Iran like Gilan and Mazandaran. It is an appetizing dish which consists mainly of fresh broad beans or lima beans, egg and dill. The dish can be served with rice or bread, depending on your preferences. Try this dish at cozy ambience of Cheminée restaurant to enjoy its pure taste. Cheminée is located in the 15th district, not far from Quai Andre Citron and La Seine.
Cheminée, 60 Bis Rue des Entrepreneur, 75015 Paris, France
Zereshk Polo © persian-recipes.net Zereshk Polo with Chicken
Zereshk polo simply consists of saffron rice, barberry and sliced pistachio, but its delicious taste stays with you for a long time. Not only does barberry give a distinctive sweet and sour flavor, but it also makes for a colorful dish. Zereshk polo is also served with marinated chicken, which is cooked separately and added to the rice after. If you are curious, spacious and classy Golestan restaturant in avenue Chemps-Elysées provides its customers with the best Zereshpolo in town.
Golestan, 71 Avenue Champs-Elysees, 75008 Paris, France
Sabzi Polo with Grilled Salmon
Sabzi Polo with Grilled Salmon is the special dish of Norouz, and Persian New Year which starts in the spring. The meal is simply herbed rice with grilled salmon but the rich fragrance of aromatic rice rounds out the flavours perfectly. Pickled vegetables and wine are the best accompaniment to this mouth watering meal. Chalizar located in 14th district, near to Montparnasse, cooks one of the best Sabzi Polos, not only in the spring but also throughout the year.
Chalizar, 121 Avenue du Maine, 75014 Paris, France
Bereshtook
Bereshtook is a grilled yellow-pea flour biscuit, flavored with cardamom, topped with ground pistachio and enjoyed with tea or coffee. The texture is usually very soft, and it melts in your mouth quickly. Bereshtook is one of the most popular sweets of Norouz, but many bakeries like Shirinkam make it through the year. Try it at Shirinkam with a cup of tea or coffee and enjoy having a walk in 6th district.
Shirinkam, 4 Rue Lobineau, 75006 Paris, France
By Azadeh Nafissi
http://theculturetrip.com/europe/france/articles/taste-of-a-culture-top-10-persian-dishes-in-paris/
The Bal maids of Condurrow – Devil’s Hole
Devil’s Hole by Ray Stone
The adit, an entrance no taller than a stooped man and just wide enough for single file laid before me pitch black and uninviting. Holding onto the roughhewn walls, we tripped and stumbled down the steep sloping passageway to the Devil’s Hole as Pumblewood called the vertical pit that was the centre of all things. A continuous noise of picks breaking the seams and shovels loading ore into kibble skips echoed continually from far below us. This amid the hoarse cries of miners who worked the day breathing in and choking on thick dust; I felt we were entering hell itself.
Pumblewood, quiet since my remonstration, stopped and turned toward me with candle in hand. The light showed a face that was troubled over a more serious matter than the terrible conditions around us.
His voice shook. “Dear Lord, Sir, this day has been coming and still I am for the most part unable to satisfy your concerns.”
“How so?” I asked. My concerns were mainly for my mother. Mr Crumley gave the explanation to me that a skip full of ore had run amok as miners pulled it to the headframe wheel lift that hauled the ore up to the rail shaft. The skip ran over my mother. As no women worked below ground the story made little sense.
“Silas Dench was a wicked man who would have his way in all things.” Pumblewood put a handkerchief to his mouth and nose as a swirling mass of thick blinding dust carried on an up draft enveloped us. Coughing and spitting black phlegm on the ground, he continued. “I thought it strange that he should announce your mother’s death to the workforce one morning. Not one of us was aware of the accident save two miners supposed involved yet they agreed she died in the previous afternoon. Her body was already buried and that was the end of things.”
I kept my own counsel, wishing to think on Pumblewood’s words. We reached a circular cavern and a narrow ledge that led around its entirety. Ladders leading down into the blackness lent against wooden shoring on all sides. From one ladder blackened faces silently looked in my direction as two men climbed to the ledge with boots and tools slung over shoulders.
“Your aunt also disappeared one night after a fight with Dench. She fought him tooth and nail and no mistake for better conditions for the workers.”
“And she is buried with my mother?” I asked.
“It will be best you enquire with Mrs Malocks,” replied Pumblewood.
I sensed his guilty conscience and wondered if he and Mrs Malocks were keepers of hurtful truth they preferred not to share.
We continued on the inspection and later as we cleaned ourselves in the office I asked, “Can you show me where my mother is buried?”
Pumblewood sighed deeply and shook his head. “Dear Sir, I cannot. I fear no-one can.”
http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/bal-maid-knocking
March 8, 2015
Advice that cannot be ignored – article blog from STAGE 32
Finding The Right Note
By Tom Rasely
Sunday, March 1st, 2015
Share the LOVE!80 4 275
Richard “RB” Botto
Today’s guest blog comes from Stage 32 member Tom Rasely, a composer and guitarist. Tom has been composing for over 5 decades and has composed scores for several stage shows, as well as arrangements for a symphony, a string quartet, a guitar concerto, and numerous choral works. He continues to compose music in a wide variety of styles.
In this guest blog, Tom discusses the importance of opening your mind and being ready for the unexpected when working in any creative field. Though he specifically aims his advice toward composers, his wisdom and advice certanly applies to filmmakers, writers and other creatives. Taking us all the way back to 1973, Tom shares with us the piece of advice that changed how he approached his creative endeavors and walks us through how he learned how to find the right note.
I thank Tom for his contribution to the Stage 32 Blog.
Enjoy,
RB
Here’s a short story from my college days, which by the way, takes us back to 1973.
My composition teacher, Dr. Walter Hartley, told the class one day that, if you are going to be composer then you have to start with a note. And if you are going to become a good composer you will pick a second note, and it will be the right note.
Well, as a senior in a fairly prestigious music school (at least within the New York State University system), I smugly thought to myself, “Of course it would be the right note…I chose it!”
Hah. That’s not what he meant at all! In fact, it took me around 10 years for that one sentence to soak into my psyche. What he meant was that it will be the right note because it leads well from the first note, and leads equally well to the THIRD note!
Years later, when I was visiting my alma mater, I chanced to meet up with Dr. Hartley. I shared my “revelation” with him and thanked him for sharing it with us. And then he told me that it had taken him about ten years to really understand when his teacher told him the same thing.
Well, you may not take that long to “get it”, but the important thing is to get it at all. No worthwhile composition, whether it’s a sweeping movement from a symphony, or even a 30 second cue for an independent film, is going to really work without that one maxim in place. The notes that you choose, the chords that you harmonize with, will simply attract the ear better when they are thought out in terms of how well they flow together.
Obviously, if you are working on a specific music cue, then you need to be aware of the nature of the scene, but the truth still applies. In fact, that should help dictate what the “next note” will be. A romantic moment will more often require a diatonic movement, whereas a tense scene may require something more (seemingly) disjointed.
And that is precisely why we, as composers, need to learn to listen. The more varied your listening experience is, the more varied your writing potential is. It is never very productive to get stuck in one style; you could easily run out ideas in a hurry that way. This applies to all creative professions, by the way.
It comes down to this: appreciation verses preference.
Learning to listen to music that you don’t necessarily like requires that you learn to appreciate what is in that music. The question you might start with is: what do people hear in it who do like this music? That is the fine art of appreciation.
When I first heard the Carpenters (way back when) I thought they were very commercial, very pop, and very boring. That is, until I started to really listen to the orchestration, the production, the vocal blends created by the stacking of just two voices. What an eye-opener. Much of what I eventually learned about instrumentation of a pop song I learned from Richard Carpenter, George Martin (Beatles), Paul Buckmaster (Elton John) and Walter Afanasieff (Kenny G, Celine Dion, et al). Geniuses, every one!
So, what kind of music should you listen to? OK, how about some bluegrass, how about some opera (like trying to find just how funny a Mozart “comic” opera is), how about some Robert Johnson blues from the 20s, or some barbershop quartet singing? Don’t forget to include some Frank Zappa (with or without the Mothers of Invention), some John Coltrane, and some big band era music (Glenn Miller would be a good place to start). When was the last time you listen to the original cast recording of a recent Broadway show?
If you write symphonic music, don’t off-handedly neglect the ultra-pop sounds of someone like Lady Gaga or Taylor Swift. If you are a jazz musician, listen to some good Kletzmer music.
In other words, expand your musical universe. You will be amazed at how inspiring that can be.
And speaking of inspiration…we need to understand that musical inspiration does not always come from musical sources. Really! Composers like Beethoven and Mahler drew much of their inspiration from nature.
But don’t limit yourself. Look around; listen constantly. Be ready to employ any sound, anytime, anywhere.
I once wrote a piece of music, a novelty piece, based on the squeak that I heard when I squeezed an empty dish detergent bottle. Another song was based completely on the chance use of the word Balderdash. A neighbor was constructing a bridge over a stream that ran through his property, and the pile driver was cranking out a rhythm that was quite annoying, but really unique, so I got out my digital recorder and stored it away. I have yet to use that one, but its time will come.
Here’s a lesson that I learned when I was working in radio. One of the on-air guys said to me that in order to be successful in radio you don’t need to know everything about any one thing, but you need to know a little bit about everything. The same thing applies to composing: you don’t need to be a master of every type of music, but you will be a better composer if you are open to appreciating every/any type of music, even just a little.
When you get to that point, you will discover that there is no such thing as writer’s block. Honest; it disappears. No more getting stuck in a rut, because there are no ruts. Or put differently, you have a whole lot more ruts to jump in and out of. It is a very freeing.
A simple philosophy that I share with all of my creative friends and students runs something like this: if you are ready for anything, then anything can come along and it’s OK. If you are not ready for anything, then anything that comes along has the potential to be a disaster.
Bottom line: always listen, always be learning, always be attempting something new. When you do that, you will suddenly realize that you have developed a style all your own because you are the only one that listens and learns exactly the way you do. And then, as Dr. Hartley suggested, you will find the right note, and you will find it in the right way.
Serial from way back
This is a serial that started way back and caught the imagination of all concerned. Here is the starter written by Suraya.
A Fetching Story
The morning began like any other holiday with Lizzie and her four friends deciding on a pooh bear picnic in Taranaki National Park.
She packed the blue and white checked table cloth and her two teddy bears. Robin brought the guitar (a pooh bear picnic was nothing without a few folk songs) and Frances bought the pots of ‘hunny’ for them to lick at as Peter read from AA Milne’s famous volume. Frances laid out the picnic she had packed into a hamper. Peter poured sauvignon blanc into plastic wine glasses and they offered a toast, “to the bear of very little brain.”
They bowed their heads in contemplation while Peter read a chapter. His slightly mocking voice drifted over them and they smiled as they imagined pooh sticks floating down a stream. Lizzie plaited a section of her shoulder length hair then left it to unravel as Peter announced, “the end.”
“There you go, rabbit philosophy for today – never let things come to you. “ He closed the book. “Go and fetch them,” he added.
The sounds of rustling leaves and the nearby teasing stream lilted over them.
Lizzie said, “I always go and fetch things.”
“Same here,” the others echoed as they lay back to watch wispy clouds play on a blue eiderdown.
“And now for a lick of honey,” Frances said offering the pot around. The sun flashed off her red curls.
Three of them lifted themselves onto their elbows, dipped their index fingers in the pottery pot and sucked on them. Around them the tips of native trees pricked into the sky and their branches touched to form a circle around the friends.
In the background, Robin played quiet folk songs and the friends joined in. Birds shuffled from perch to perch. A tui trilled, quick notes at the top of the scale then deep throaty warbling before adding a few short quick notes in the middle. Silence. A shuffle as it jumped to another branch. Then came the song again.
Robin stopped playing and the friends peered through the branches.
“There he is,” Lizzie whispered, pointing.
Their eyes fell upon the bird, standing regally on a Kahikatea tree. As if aware it had an audience it started to sing again. The notes lifted with its bobbing tuft of white at its neck then fell against blue-black shining feathers. With a flutter it flew through the trees.
Stretching his long arms Robin stood and stretched. His green velvet jacket lifted to expose a tanned midriff.
“I’m going for a walk. Anyone want to come?”
His blue eyes played over the group. They paused on Lizzie and his lazy smile issued an invitation. She nodded. As she stood, her patchwork skirt flowed in flaring color around her.
As they walked away Frances picked up the book and as she bit her trembling lip she ran her finger along its edges. She shivered as a grey cloud floated across the sun….
Author: Suraya Dewing (NZ)
March 7, 2015
CREEPY STUFF
Written by: roseyn
My head is still hazy but I desperately try to process the information.
Three parasites… successfully removed….don’t… carry spores.
Did that then mean…?
The surgeon is studying me like one reading my thoughts. “You will live, Eric.” His voice is low, firm and thick with conviction.
“So why the isolation tent?” I ask him.
Stanovich casually shrugs. “Bureaucratic policy. Nothing more.”
For one brief, fantastical moment, I feel no pain, just an enormous sense of euphoric relief.
I have been given back my future.
My thoughts quickly centre on Lillith, my breezy, endlessly optimistic Lillith, on old movies, long beach walks and delicious spaghetti banquets.
And I smile.
“My name is Dr. Stanovich,” the surgeon says with immaculate pride. “And I will be in charge of your case study.”
Apprehension makes an unwelcome return in me as I recall the remainder of Stanovich’s news. We have not encountered anything like them [the parasites] before… keeping you here for further study.
I wonder what this means precisely? More importantly, what it means for me? And how long will I have to stay? I ask Stanovich.
He laughs but there is no humour in it. “So many questions, Eric. And I will answer all of them… later.Right now, you are to rest.”
And with a long, slow, satisfied grin, one ripe with knowing, he disappears from the screen.
I am alone again.
I take in my windowless surroundings. It is all white walls and immaculate silver fixtures, oppressively clinical… friendless. The noticeable odour of antiseptic assaults my senses, and the only sound is the steady, rhythmical beeping of the vital signs monitor. This is to be my home for an indefinite period.
My timeless cell of no night or day.
I shiver.
In time, I drift off. Bizarre dreams haunt my sleep, hostile dreams of hostile faces, of shadowless, cold places and I’m in the centre, unable to move, unable to speak.
Somewhere a light turns on and….
“Eric….”
I bolt upright, awake and shaken. Hot, sharp pain stabs my ribs and I groan. My heart is thrashing, my hands are sweaty, my hairline wet. Just a dream, I say repeatedly between long, difficult breaths, just a dream. So why wasn’t I convinced?
“Eric….”
The voice is whispery, urgent and is coming from the screen’s direction. I narrow my gaze, stare hard and then wonder if I’m still dreaming.
Lillith?
She immediately gestures me to keep silent. She appears frightened, skittish, constantly checking over her shoulder. “I have to get you out of here.” Her eyes are wide, wild, her expression unusually stern. “The Infection,” she says, “the one in your body….”
I don’t much care for her present tense assessment. Infection is gone… past tense. I open my mouth to speak but she overrides me.
“You didn’t just get it,” she says in her non-Lillith voice.
And I begin to question who she really is.
“He put Infection in your body….”
“What?”
“Stanovich… he put it there… on purpose.”
The Bal maid of Great Condurrow
Written by: Ray Stone
“Past five in the morning and you not risen. Silas Dench never lay after five and if you’re to catch the start of the shift you’ll be needing to taste tea and porridge by now.”
Mrs Malocks stood with her back to the cold grate with hands on hips, one foot beating the wooden floor in a quick little toe taps. A small tray, on which a bowl of steaming porridge and a large mug of tea stood, was placed on the night stand by the side of my bed.
“Thank you, Mrs Malocks.” I shivered as I folded back the eider down and wrapped my hands around the mug. My breath spilled and disappeared quickly into the air after taking a sip. “Is it possible to bank the fire tonight for a warm room by dawn?” I asked.
Mrs Malocks eyes widened. “Silas Dench will be turning in the sod. A fire all night is unheard of in this ghostly pile of morbid bricks.” She nodded and left the room.
I finished the breakfast and washed hastily in the bowl of luke-warm water sitting on top of the dresser. Whatever else, my newly acquired housekeeper was efficient despite an unmistakable lack of respect when referencing her previous employer.
***
“Can I ask you about Silas Dench?”
Mrs Malocks sat at the kitchen table peeling potatoes by the light of a single gas lamp. A grey sky filled with fast moving clouds that appeared on the dawn through the one small window that rattled continuously, buffeted by a strong wind that whistled through a crack.
“There’s not much to tell,” she replied without looking from her work. “He was a mean man with a bad temper for sure.”
“Did he not have a wife?”
Her fidgeting fingers stopped working and her head turned, old tired eyes looking up into mine.
“That such a man could once be the kindest man on earth is hard to think of, but he was that. A beauty did capture his young heart, but your mother loved another despite the prospect of a better position in life. Silas’ soul soured and darkened from then on and not a man nor woman ever shook him from his deep melancholy.”
“My mother?” I slumped into a chair, my heart beating with much force.
Mrs Malocks gently touched my hand. “Your mother loved his brother, your pater, and not a word passed between them after your mother married. When your father died, Silas paid for your boarding school and for your mother and her sister who lived with her to come here.”
“So Uncle Silas boarded my mother and her sister here?” I asked.
“Nay lad, your mother still would not take him to her bed. Silas Dench cruelly sent them to work in the mine. It was the only way they could exist and was to be the death of both of them.”
I left the sad house with heavy heart and set out to visit the mine.
A new way of life
A couple of days ago I was coming back from the local hospital at Polis, a nice small seaside town on the north west of the island. Between Polis and where I live is mainly farmland and vineyard land among the hills and peninsula of the Troodos mountain range. As I drove up and around a sharp bend I braked sharply to avoid colliding with approximately 50 goats. At first all I could see was a column three abreast of brown goats led by a white goat. They started walking slantwise across the road when I realized they were following the Shepard – a small truck. The shepard was leading them to a different hillside and in this modern day had got the goats to recognize the truck as well as his voice. It was fascinating to watch and made me think that I really know very little about the traditional Cypriot way of life.
Whenever I am at the hospital, which is twice a week at the moment, I am reminded each time that the old here, especially the women, have ‘right of way’ in most things. When I queue for a blood test or for medication there will always be at least two women who will push in to be served. Thy expect the right. Yet if I am lost or need something in a shop it is the women, not the men, who are most helpful. Their faces light up when I thank them or say good morning in Greek and they are ready to correct me or help me pronounce a new word. When I lived on Malta everyone spoke English but not here. Although English is spoken it is basic and this has given Mrellan and myself the reason to do what we should to speak and write a little Greek. We are going to classes in September and in the meantime I am all over the phrase book.
Summer is here at last although a strong breeze still blows in from the sea and up to us from the valley we look down on. The pool has been cleaned and looks inviting despite the cold water. Another month and I will be in there. It is a strange experience to be sitting by the pool with tea in hand and listen every now and again to donkeys’ ‘shouting’ at me from a few hundred yards away. They are well looked after and during summer give organized rides up in the hills to kids and tourists. There used to be many donkeys on the island and until the seventies were extensively used in the vineyards. I remember seeing a few carrying huge loads of oranges the last time I was here in the seventies. The oranges, incidentally, are the best tasting I have ever had and in some places here one can just pick what you want. I juiced about a dozen last week and made a jug of juice. Absolutely great for topping up vitamin C.
So life here is different from anything we have ever experienced before and it has taken a while to slow down and start merging with all around us. I am using the treadmill more
slowly now since I found out I have a ticker problem but walking and shortly swimming keep me fit just as much as writing stimulates the brain. I have loads of work but now as we get used to a new way of life I fit the work into my schedule rather than forcing my schedule to suit the work.
Regards from Cyprus
March 5, 2015
Mirrium Webster – Daily word
ilk \ILK\
Definition
noun
Examples
The hole beneath the stairs of the cabin’s porch allows in squirrels, woodchucks, and other creatures of that ilk.
“In many parts of the world, anyone who will ever buy a smartphone probably has done so, and now we’re on to the steady business of buying a new one only when we break, lose, or need to replace our old phones. When analysts discuss growth predictions for cell phones and their ilk, they signal nothing but caution.” — Lindsey Turrentine, CNET, February 6, 2015
Did You Know?
The Old English pronoun ilca is the predecessor of the modern noun ilk, but by way of a pronoun ilk that does not exist in most dialects of modern English. That ilk is synonymous with same, and persists in Scots where it’s used in the phrase “of that ilk,” meaning “of the same place, territorial designation, or name.” It is used chiefly in reference to the names of land-owning families and their eponymous estates, as in “the Guthries of that ilk,” which means “the Guthries of Guthrie.” Centuries ago a misunderstanding arose concerning the Scots phrase: it was interpreted as meaning “of that kind or sort,” a usage that found its way into modern English. Ilk has been established in English with its current meaning and part of speech since the late 18th century.
Name That Synonym
Unscramble the letters to create a synonym of ilk: EDYIKN.
An Interesting Article
An article by Azadeh Nafissi, Story Mint member.
I have made it to the 2nd round of The Culture Trip award and very much appreciate if you share my trial article on your social media.
http://theculturetrip.com/…/cinema-of-questions-abbas-kiar…/
…
A blog for everyone
- Ray Stone's profile
- 17 followers
