Fellow volunteers

We met as volunteers working at the same night shelter but we found out that we had already been colleagues unawares when both of us had served, albeit at different times, at the same institution in Jerusalem. It usually didn’t take long until she talked about her volunteering in Israel with someone new, and it must have been like this that we discovered common ground. She was rather chuffed when it came to the topic of her yearly stays of over a month each time.

From that first day, whenever we did a night shift together we often talked about common acquaintances, the staff, the patients, the atmosphere in Jerusalem, and life in that big house. I promised one day I would show her the photos I had taken the summer I was there. Now there will be no more time for that…

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Christmas cards

In the internet era Christmas cards have become a rarity. The young have not lived in the heyday of the post, and many older people consider it outmoded or too formal to send cards, but the main reason may be that they are rather inconvenient. Because you’ve got to buy one, write in good hand a well thought-out message parsed with punctuation and capital letters (an insurmountable stumbling block for most email writers), copy the address, buy a stamp, stick it on the envelope, and mail it. Compared to the click of the mouse required to send an email, this takes much longer, involves more commitment and more expense. In most cases it involves a process that is not accomplished in just a few hurried minutes in front of the laptop screen.

But receiving a Christmas card is much nicer than an email that is read as quickly as it was written, and then is destined to be deleted leaving as little trace as the effort it required when it came to life. Luckily, I still have a few friends who I still exchange cards with and this year I even received one from a former work colleague from England who I used to correspond with. It was indeed a good surprise.

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The globe traveller

When I met him in the lift he was carrying a globe in his hands. Across the lands of two continents red and blue lines were drawn that must respectively represent his proposed route and the one already carried out. It was an original way to take note of a travel itinerary and it naturally led me to exchange a few words during the handful of seconds that the lift ride lasted. At the hostel door we said goodbye. I was going into town and he to a bookshop, with his globe.

The day was a perfectly clear one, and warm for December. It was hard to believe that Saturday’s gloominess had been able to transform itself into such radiance of light and outburst of colour. The previous day, a cloudy sky had not allowed me to fully enjoy the harbour view from the overlooking knoll, but today was the perfect weather for no matter what open air activity. I walked to the Sagrada Familia, gasped in front of the formidable unfinished construction from the outside, while the inside literally made me hold my breath. The Gothic cathedral pattern had been updated into a wonderful flourish of modern art where nature-inspired motives were not only the decoration but also the structure. The bright sun filtered through the stained glass and painted a kaleidoscope of coloured patches on the light columns and on the floor.

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Wedding wine

I invited my friends to celebrate three November birthdays, among which mine, and I prepared a genuine Moroccan dinner because of my recent visit there: harira with dates and chicken tajine. On another occasion I had tried out this particular harira recipe which had turned out above my best expectations and had gathered the unanimous praise of all my guests. I was glad that the flavours resulting from the mix of coriander and unfamiliar spices did not taste too strange to my more conservative friends, and therefore I listed it among the dishes that deserved being offered again. As for the main course I went for something blander that the previous time and prepared a chicken tajine.

Only an Arab sweet was the great absentee, and this lack was especially felt when a friend admitted thinking of getting one ready. She had surfed the net to find inspiration, even set on a recipe, but finally given up the plan because of a busy day. Never mind, she said, she had brought some wine, directly from her father’s cellar. She knew nothing about that bottle, but relied on her father’s good appreciation of wines. I put it in the fridge to cool while we chatted and I warmed the dishes up.

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The power of novelty

The economy spins thanks to innovation, this is perfectly well known. Economists have pointed out that innovation can take various forms, product, process and the litany goes on until a given sacred number which is in its turn presented as an innovative discovery, because a new theory also constitutes a sellable product.

All things new have always aroused the attention of customers who rush to come by the latest rage and thus distinguish themselves from those who fall behind or cannot afford it. Often it doesn’t really matter if a novelty is an improvement to the previous situation, because large swathes of the public would do anything in the name of social distinction, a goal they are prepared to attain by investing whatever amount of superfluous money they deem worthy of this. Fashion, hi-tech and every other industry sector are driven by the buyers’ irresistible craving for novelty that only partly brings about a genuine advantage in their welfare. Most products on sale pretend to introduce innovation, but in fact only respond to the manufacturer’s and the seller’s logic of making money. The pandered consumer is not always the victim, but is often the one guilty of uncritical behaviour, apart from being one of the natural driving forces in the mechanism of consumer economy.

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