I'm sad

America slides deeper into fascism every day (see the House of Representatives spending a day debating whether to censure the NY Times for 'disclosing' something that Bush has been publicly speaking about since October 2001), Greenland is melting twice as fast as the computer projections, and Karen is in the other room, watching 'So You Think You Can Dance?'

It's not so much the inanity of the premise of the show, it's the repeated sounds of the crowd squealing in delight at the great moves. It's the sense that we are living in a false reality.

It's paranoia, but you know the old saying about that.

Maisie the cat lies around panting shallow breaths. Her tumor is obviously growing. At some point, her discomfort will be visible, and then we must act. We pet her and talk to her, and tell her how happy we have been, to have her in our family.

I spent some time today reviewing the digital photos from the trip. Many are quite good, and they tell a fine story, of the assorted remnants of vanished cultures - the Moors and Jews in Spain, and the Jews in Morocco - that might have turned out completely differently, had a few events been slightly modified.

At the Alhambra, our guide was an old gent, named Pepe. He was full of love for his subject, and wonderful anecdotes about tourists. He really made us understand both the joys and the losses of the world of the last Moorish kings.

The reality of living in an Islamic culture was clear everywhere you look, in Morocco. Driving along the highway, we passed numerous tiny villages, each with its minaret dominating its modest skyline. On many occasions, we saw people taking time in public to pray, unselfconsciously and with great devotion. It's easy to see why Islam was so easily able to overwhelm the Christianity of the 7th century, which must have appeared to be a religion of superstition, magic, and idolatry.

The contrasts between Spain and Morocco were deep. In Spanish cities, the evenings are for people to fill the taverns and cafes, drinking and eating their many ham appetizers. In Morocco, the eveings are for people to fill the squares, drinking sweet mint tea and eating sweet pastries.

When I got to JKF in New York, and we were all cleared and waiting for our flight to Portland, the first thing I did was to go to the bar and order a pint of cold, delicious beer. That first sip, after a week of traveling in a land where alcohol was forbidden, was truly satisfying, as is the cold, Spanish white wine I am drinking with my dinner, tonight.

Morocco was surprisingly green and fertile (at least the areas we drove thru, west of the high Atlas). We saw endless fields of grain, vegetables, grazing animals, and even grapes (they are not fools). The cities were relatively clean, and the many old people walked with dignity.

The call to prayer occurs five times a day. We often heard it at sunrise, late afternoon, and sunset. It's sort of like bugle calls in a military camp - everyone takes notice, and does what is required. Maybe it's a good thing that America doesn't live under that sort of enforced regimentation, but one has to admit that it imposes a regular reminder of social responsibility, and maybe there are benefits to that.

Also, it was neat seeing so many donkeys.