Conversations in Calistoga

Barbra

After a night camping in Napa, my friends wanted to go wine tasting. I don't drink, so I went walking around town. I walked along what looked like a "Main" street in Calistoga and stopped when I saw the sign for an antique store. Even if I don't buy anything, I am always curious to see what memories those stores hold. Often I'll find the store keeper to have lived more than twice as many lives as I have.

This time, Barbra was my father's age, down to the month. Both were born in May though Barbra was two weeks ahead of my dad. Barbra was dressed in a black top that made the amber colored necklace with matching earring stand out. My mom had a very similar set that I played with throughout my childhood and wore with joy as an adult. Barbra told me how only five years ago she started her career as a writer and within two years had her first story published. This gave me hope that it was not too late for me to start my own career as a writer. She even offered to read some of my writings and offer feedback. Then Barbra very eloquently asked: "Where are you from? I hear an intonation." She didn't mention my "accent" which is how most people ask. I explained that I was born in Damascus, Syria and that I grew up and lived in Doha, Qatar before I moved to the U.S. to work here. She shared that she comes from a Jewish family who immigrated to New York from Europe. We both laughed at how our families left us with DNA signatures that gave us a "petite" stature; I am 5’2 and Barbra proudly announced she was 5’2 and ¾, "and don't forget the 3/4" she added.

Before I left the store, Barbra suggested that I visit the monastery. "is it a Buddhist monastery I asked?" She said it was a Christian monastery and the nuns make delicious chocolate chip cookies. I ran back to my friends who were still enjoying their wine, got my wallet and walked with determined steps to get my chocolate chip cookies.

Sister Marie

At the monastery, I met sister Marie. She was dressed in a head cover that is not very dissimilar from the one worn by many of my family members. It was also somewhat similar to the dress worn by Soeur Michelle (sister Michelle), the nun in the Franciscan school in Damascus where I went to pre-school and elementary school. Being in that little monastery store with the icons all around me and the music of the chants in the background, I felt like I was 10 years old all over again. It was called Holy Assumption Monastery. I asked what denomination it was, she said it was Orthodox. We talked about the great schism and I told her that Lent is similar to Ramadan which is just around the corner. She told me that Lent follows Passover and Passover follows the Lunar Calendar. I told her that Ramadan follows the Lunar Calendar as well. We both paused as we noticed how the those three main events are within days of each other and that we are only separated by our perceived differences.

The name of the monastery spoke to me as well. I recently made assumptions that I feel like they put me at a disadvantage and caused me disappointment. Sister Mary explained that the name of the of the monastery "Holy Assumption" speaks to how Mary was assumed, or raised to the heavens. In our everyday life we use the word 'assume' when speaking about people.. we assume they are kind, or trustworthy, or inherently good. When we make assumptions about people, we raised them. It gave me relief that, maybe the assumption I made was misplaced but by doing so I raised that person at least for a period of time in my own views. Whether or not they deserved it, it is a different story.

My grandmother

Speaking of the lunar calendar, we are now two weeks away from Ramadan. According to the lunar calendar, in about 10 days, it will have been 9 years since my grandmother left this world. My grandmother visits me often. Especially in times of confusion. As a child, I loved story time. And as far as story time from my grandmother is concerned, I was a child until about age twenty nine! I would make her tell me stories until her mouth went dry. To give herself a break, she would say: "go get me a cold glass of water" and she would put a lot of emphasis on cold. But for a fiery woman as my grandmother, the water was never cold enough.

A favorite story of mine that I often remember is about a bedouin man whose father died and he was caring for his aging mother. He needed to get a better tent to provide shelter for himself and his mother so when he heard of a wealthy generous king, he got on the road to go ask him for help. He arrived to where the king was and found him in prayer. So he said to himself: "if the king is asking God, why would I ask from the king? I will also ask from God". He stood in prayer and when he was done, he went back to his flimsy tent. His mother asked him, "so did the king give you money". He said: "I didn't ask him. He was in prayer so I did what he was doing. I asked the Giver of all beings." That night a storm hit the area. The flimsy tent couldn't withstand the wind. The man tried to secure the stakes back but they kept hitting a hard object. He thought it was a rock but when he took it out, it was a pot of gold. He brought it inside to his mother and showed her. With the money he was able to buy a new tent and help his sickly mother.

Of course, my grandmother is a much better storyteller than I am. And as a child, I enjoyed the story just for story-sake. Now, I can see the moral of this story in two aspects: The first is that even though not every storm ends with a pot of gold, more often than not, there is a reason for the strong winds and you will be able to do something about it if you try. The second, always ask for help. It does not have to be a king. It can be a friend, a family member, someone you trust, and remember there is God, a being that is always listening, you just need to ask. You never know how help will find you once you ask.

So, I had a conversation with a Christian Orthodox nun this week that I found through a kind Jewish woman who is the same age as my dad and owns a necklace that resembles my mom's amber necklace. But it felt like much more. Through those two kind ladies I feel like my grandmother spoke to me, my parents sent me their blessings and I saw a dotted line that took me back to my childhood.