Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2011-29

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Anaise Bourbon continues her story about Egypt
• Don Henderson forwards a poem about golf
• Marilyn Magid sends a spooky story about a cemetery
• Pat Moore forwards definitions of a half-full glass
• Catherine Nesbitt sends another blonde joke
• Zvonko Springer´s story is about a zealous new CEO
• Ron McVey shares the rules for summer BBQs
• Sites are recommended by Bruce Galway, Catherine Nesbitt, Don Henderson, and Tom Williamson

Anaise Bourbon continues with her impressions of

EGYPT

When I awoke at noon, it was warmer but the breeze still kept me feeling not hot, but caressed with a soft surround of warmth. We walked out along the broad streets to a store so I could get some proper clothes. I had arrived in a long white shirt and wearing a head scarf. It´s only respectful to do so, with the added advantage of it being so cool. My friends had lent me a long skirt and as I kicked it out in front of me and was sheltered from the sun in my head scarf, I felt not "Western" umbrage at dressing so, but cool and just ... right. Some man at the store asked my friend if I was Muslim, as I seemed such a proper lady. And just from that, they could not do enough for me. Why try to make a stand nobody would "get" when I could instead invite a warm welcome that anybody would understand.

Change takes time, and change will come, but it is not for me to be so egocentric as to think I am a model of "what should be." We went to a mall later, and yes, malls are the same everywhere. The people looked *exactly* the same as people anywhere else. A lot of women wore head scarves, many did not. And some wore head scarves, yet dressed so provocatively otherwise in clothes my "Western" modesty would never permit.

I ate marvellous food. I was careful never to address a man, but the women were friendly in a way I have never met elsewhere, and I have been many places in the world. Is it run down? Yes. Is it a third- world country? Yes. Is it beautiful beyond comprehension, and made my preconceived notions outdated and shallow? Oh yes.

I am going to be taken down to the proper Cairo bazaars tomorrow to buy more clothes and a lamp for my bedroom. But sitting on the balcony tonight, seeing the dusty-blue of the sky, feeling the wind dry the water I had poured on my face and neck to be cool, and smelling the ubiquitous smell of baking bread in a land where that scent has been experienced by millions of people for thousands of years ... well.

I am so glad for now I took the chance against all warnings and found a strange paradise that if met half-way, repays twice. So now I will close the wooden shutters that keep the morning sun out but lets the breeze in, walk bare-foot along the cool parquet floors, and sleep on my mattress on the floor. One of my Egyptian friends has surrounded it with statues of Bastet and other protective gods, plus some gravel- sized pieces of pyramid - to keep me safe, I was told.

I do not know what tomorrow will bring but I have, for the first time in such a long time, a feeling of lightness and an intense curiosity to explore this timeless city. Here, people mostly live, shop, and socialize all night, and sleep when they can in the day. And so I shall. It seems only right to embrace the times and scenes of this extraordinary place I never thought to find myself in.

It is now tomorrow, and I was looking towards the horizon and noticed a HUGE royal palm tree. My friend explained it wasn´t a palm; it was a cell tower. When they build cell towers here, they make them look *exactly* like palm trees. Lovely.

Well, it was time for me to go to the heart of the beast tonight to visit some markets. Getting to public transport is a challenge. The highway here is four lanes one way and four the next. Theoretically there are four lanes, but people just choose which ones they want to be in and swerve back and forth. And one must cross this highway to get to the bus. Yes, there are crosswalks, but unless one waves money at the crossing guard (bit a joke, really), the only thing for it is to grab the hands of the friends next to you and run! I mean RUN, because people are travelling at about 80 miles an hour. I was saucer- eyed with terror as we ran. But we made it (this time) with only a few screeching tires and goodwill on the part of the drivers.

The buses are like mini-vans, but will take as many people as can cram in. This makes the bus (travelling at Mach 2) rather wobbly. It takes on a good day about two hours to reach Cairo proper from where I am living. Still, crossing the farmlands and seeing the irrigation canals from the Nile and thinking of the sheer age of them, well....

We made it safely there amidst the other millions of people heading that way and driving like bumper-car drivers on crack. As usual I was dressed as if I´d just emerged from East Berlin after the wall came down (I was still wearing borrowed clothes). I also have a habit left over from Hong Kong of covering my mouth when laughing or smiling, as that is what the Japanese who frequented Hong Kong do. And the results were amazing. Most of the store owners assumed from my modest dress I was Muslim, and what I didn´t know was that covering one´s mouth is an ancient sign of respect here.

Of course haggling is the order of the day, but I left that to my friend who speaks Egyptian and also seems to be related to so many people there. I was searching for a nice modified abaya in cotton to up my look. Because people thought that not only was I Muslim but very proper with it, the prices immediately dropped. I found an exquisite one, all hand made (picture when I wear it) that I shall save for meeting the family I have to impress.

Meanwhile we wandered the bazaars, being offered everything at silly prices until I covered my mouth and looked away and got my friend to shop for me. He would have bought everything, but I only wanted a couple of dresses and a lamp for my room. We went down many back alleys and oh, what wonders to be seem when one bothered to go to the back rooms! Oh course I remained close to my male friends, avoided eye contact, and simply shook my head and looked down with covered mouth when the hagglers came for me. And you know, they stopped bothering me. The only heartbreak was a breathtakingly beautiful little girl carrying a baby, who grabbed my hand with her soft fingers, and looked up with me with soft eyes, begging for anything. And one must look away. It was gutting, but if you give to one, you must give to all, and in a city like this it would never, ever end.

Because everyone lives at night here in the hot season, all the alleys were alight with colour and tat. At the tea bars, women sat sucking at their shishas (hookahs) and drinking tea, and even they looked at me kindly, but as if I was from the past. We a carried on from one mysterious store to the next one selling brightly-coloured, well, everything.

Up to four years ago there were no street lights in Cairo and the sidewalks are really just broken stone and sand. After a few hours, my bladder was screaming for mercy, and knowing it was a long trip back (though one can always go to the myriad of mosques at every corner to use the facilities), I was hot and desperate and totally overwhelmed. So we caught the bus of possible doom, crammed with passengers, heading back across the Nile and through the farm fields back to Zayed city.

They have an interesting way of bus travel here. They call out the name of the destination, and as soon as the ancient mini-van is crammed with as many people as possible, they set out. People from the back hand their money to the people in front of them until it reaches the driver.

We got out a little far from our place so we took a taxi that looked like a house of ill-repute on wheels, complete with red interior lighting, a bag half full of liquid hanging from the the rearview mirror (air freshener, apparently), and for some strange reason, besides the ubiquitous charm against the evil eye, there was a Volkswagen hood ornament in pride of place on the dash.

So now I am enjoying the breeze, and since I get the communal fan tonight, I expect to sleep, dreams full of colour, pathos, and minaret song.

To be continued.

Don Henderson is a frustrated golfer, judging from this poem he forwards:

GOLF POEM

In my hand I hold a ball,
White and dimpled, rather small.
Oh, how bland it does appear,
This harmless-looking little sphere!

By its size I could not guess
The awesome strength it does possess;
But since I fell beneath its spell
I´ve wandered through the fires of hell.

My life has not been quite the same
Since I chose to play this stupid game.
It rules my mind for hours on end;
A fortune it has made me spend.

It has made me yell, curse, and cry;
I hate myself and want to die.
It promises a thing called par
If I can hit it straight and far.

To master such a tiny ball
Should not be very hard at all,
But my desires the ball refuses,
And does exactly as it chooses.

It hooks and slices, dribbles, and dies,
And disappears before my eyes.
Often it will take a whim
To hit a tree, or take a swim.

With miles of grass on which to land,
It finds a tiny patch of sand.
This has me offering up my soul,
If only it would find the hole.

It´s made me whimper like a pup,
And swear that I will give it up,
And take to drink to ease my sorrow -
But the ball knows ... I´ll be back tomorrow.

Marilyn Magid forwards this spooky tale:

PECANS IN THE CEMETERY

On the outskirts of a small town there was a big old pecan tree just inside the cemetery fence. One day, two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts.

"One for you, one for me; one for you, one for me," said one boy. Several dropped and rolled down toward the fence.

Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery. He slowed down to investigate. Sure enough, he heard, "One for you, one for me; one for you, one for me...."

He just knew what it was. He jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.

"Come here quick," said the boy. "You won´t believe what I heard! Satan and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls!"

The man said, "Beat it kid, can´t you see it´s hard for me to walk?" When the boy insisted though, the man hobbled slowly to the cemetery.

Standing by the fence they heard, "One for you, one for me; one for you, one for me."

The old man whispered, "Boy, you´ve been tellin´ me the truth. Let´s see if we can see the Lord...."

Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet were still unable to see anything. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of the Lord.

At last they heard, "One for you, one for me. That´s all. Now let´s go get those nuts by the fence and we´ll be done."

They say the old man had the lead for a good half-mile before the kid on the bike passed him.

Pat Moore forwards these definitions of

WATER IN THE GLASS

A well-known proverb states that an optimistic would say a glass is half full, while a pessimist would say it is half empty. What would people of different professions and walks of life say?

The banker would say that the glass has just under 50% of its net worth in liquid assets.

The government would say that the glass is fuller than if the opposition party were in power.

The opposition would say that it is irrelevant because the present administration has changed the way such volume statistics are collected.

The economist would say that in real terms, the glass is 25% fuller than at the same time last year.

The philosopher would say that if the glass were in the forest and no one was there to see it, would it be half anything?

The psychiatrist would ask, "What did your mother say about the glass?"

The physicist would say that the volume of this cylinder is divided into two equal parts: one a colourless, odourless liquid; the other a colourless, odourless gas. Thus the cylinder is neither full nor empty. Rather, each half of the cylinder is full, one with a gas, one with a liquid.

The seasoned drinker would say that the glass doesn´t have enough ice in it.

Catherine Nesbitt forwards another blonde joke:

FIRST HORSEBACK RIDE

A blonde decides to try horseback riding, even though she has had no lessons nor prior experience. She mounts the horse unassisted, and the horse immediately springs into motion. It gallops along at a steady and rhythmic pace, but the blonde begins to slide from the saddle.

In terror, she grabs for the horse´s mane, but cannot seem to get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around the horse´s neck, but she slides down the horse´s side anyway. The horse gallops along, seemingly impervious to its slipping rider.

Finally, giving up her frail grip, the blonde attempts to leap away from the horse and throw herself to safety. Unfortunately, her foot has become entangled in the stirrup. She is now at the mercy of the horse´s pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground over and over.

As her head is battered against the ground, she is mere moments away from unconsciousness when, to her great fortune, Frank, the Walmart greeter, sees her dilemma and unplugs the horse.

And you thought all they did was say Hello!

Zvonko Springer forwards a story of

THE NEW CEO

If you´ve ever worked for a boss who reacts before getting all the facts and thinking things through, you will love this!

Arcelor-Mittal Steel, feeling it was time for a shakeup, hired a new CEO. The new boss was determined to rid the company of all slackers.

On a tour of the facilities, the CEO noticed a guy leaning against a wall. The room was full of workers and he wanted to let them know that he meant business. He asked the guy, "How much money do you make a week?"

A little surprised, the young man looked at him and said, "I make $400 a week. Why?"

The CEO said, "Wait right here." He walked back to his office, came back in two minutes, and handed the guy $1,600 in cash and said, "Here´s four weeks´ pay. Now GET OUT and don´t come back."

Feeling pretty good about himself, the CEO looked around the room and asked, "Does anyone want to tell me what that goof-ball did here?"

From across the room a voice said, "Pizza delivery guy from Domino´s."

Ron McVey writes: We have entered the BBQ season, so it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity:

THE RULES OF BBQING

When a man volunteers to do the BBQ, the following chain of events is put into motion:

Routine:

(1) The woman buys the food.

(2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.

(3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man, who is lounging beside the grill - drink in hand.

(4) The woman remains outside the compulsory three-metre exclusion zone where the exuberance of testosterone and other manly bonding activities can take place without the interference of the woman.

Here comes the important part:

(5) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

More routine....

(6) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.

(7) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is looking great. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another drink while he flips the meat.

Important again:

(8) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

More routine...

(9) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, and sauce and brings them to the table.

(10) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

And most important of all:

(11) EVERYONE PRAISES THE MAN AND THANKS HIM FOR HIS COOKING EFFORTS.

(12) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed her ´night off´, and upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there´s just no pleasing some women.

RECOMMENDED WEBSITES

Bruce Galway sends a link to a video of a woman mountain climber who illustrates the old saying that you don´t have to be crazy, but it helps:

Catherine Nesbitt believes this is one of the funniest videos she has ever seen. It is a minister telling a story to his congregation about a broken zipper. If he ever decides to change his profession he´d make a great comedian!

Don Henderson recommends the winner of a global filmmaker competition dubbed "Tell It Your Way". There were strict rules: there had to be exactly six lines of dialogue, and the entries could last no longer than three minutes. Here is a link to the grand prize winner:

Tom Williamson forwards the URL for a documentary movie on the Indian Institute of Technology, the world´s toughest educational institute to get into. Acceptance rate is less than 1.7%. It´s a famous saying that combine Harvard, MIT and Princeton - then you will get a feel of the level of IIT. It is very economical and students pay only $700 to study the best-in-the-world education. There are 15 IIt in India, the best ones being Mumbai, Delhi, Kharagpur, Chennai, Kanpur and Roorkee:

The Australian night sky has always been awe-inspiring, but this time- lapse video takes the visual splendour of the southern Milky Way to an entirely new level:

From the latest issue of CARP online, here are four websites that offer suggestions and help for people who have chosen - or been forced by circumstance - to live on a tight budget:

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to