Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@sphragides
the worst part about grief is that it feels like the world should be horrendously earth shatteringly changed, and to an extent it IS but its also the same. to everyone else it's just another tuesday. the world moves on. you have to go grocery shopping.
Painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by William Carlos Williams
musée des beaux arts, w.h. auden
Cover for Diablo Manor by Dorothy Daniels
John Martin
Art Nouveau storefront by Albert Pèpe (1906)
When I was young, I never really understood my parents insistence to only use olive oil imported from Palestine. It took a long time and a great distance in a process that was neither cheap nor convenient. The oil came in old beat-up containers that did not look appealing to me at all. In my head, if they wanted to support distant family back home, they could just send them money and save us and them a big hassle. We could just use the nice looking olive oil containers from the nearby store. Yet, this was never an option in our household. The only olive oil we used at home was from Palestine.
As I grew up and started a student part-time job, I worked with olive oil a little. I knew all about olive oil imported from Spain, Italy, and other countries. I knew which ones were better and more expensive. I also learned to tell, based on the pungent taste, which ones were extra virgin. I was tempted to use my employee discount to bring home one of the fancy bottles and use at our kitchen. I could not get myself to do it, and I did not exactly know why. I felt like it would be disrespectful to my parents even if it didn’t make sense to me. It did not feel right. It was not an option.
After living in Palestine for a year during the olive picking season, something changed. The olive picking season in Palestine is holy.
Palestinians relate to the weather based on how it would benefit or harm the olives. There is well-known unspoken rule about treating olive trees with respect. There is a day off from work just to pick olives. On public transportation, it is not unusual to hear someone on the phone telling their friend to stop by for their share of this year’s olive oil stored in what used to be a Coca-Cola or a liquor bottle. A driver will stop in the middle of the way to give his brother- in- law a jar of olives that are so close to one another that they start to crush showing their insides.
In Nablus, the owner of the Nabulsi soap factory takes pride in how picky he is about getting his olive oil. He insists on filling a cup to let me smell how authentic it is and smirks as he sees my diasporic facial expressions transform in appreciation of its strong smell running through all of my brain cells.
I started noticing how olive oil is an essential part of so many dishes. “Palestinians drink more olive oil than water” I would jokingly say and they would laugh in agreement. Olive oil is truly an everyday ritual.
They fantasize about its color when it’s fresh and remind me that it starts to change as it reacts with oxygen over time. They dip their bread into olive oil, just like that and without any additions, and enjoy it more than the sweetest of all foods. I can guarantee that every lunch invitation (عزومة) I received during the olive-picking season was a chance for my hosts to share their olive oil using Msakhan (a traditional Palestinian dish).
I now have a deeper understanding of the psychology behind the burning of olive trees by Israeli soldiers and why farmers moan at the scene as if they lost a loved one.
Wherever you are, if it’s accessible to you, make sure your olive oil is Palestinian. Your ancestors would want that.
- Dima Seelawi
bigger text: dima seelawi
We offer an award-winning, first press, extra virgin olive oil that is aromatic and flavourful. The olive trees are rain-fed and handpicked
What city pigeons talk about.
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Joseph-Paul Alizard - Is he asleep? (1915)
Füsun Ürkün
an interesting turn of phrase in finnish is "maansa myynyt", lit. "someone who has sold (all) their land", for someone who looks miserable. make of that what u will.
The version that I have heard most commonly has been "maansa myynyt ja rahansa juonut" - "has sold their land and drunk the money." So looking as miserable as someone who has lost everything they has due to their own bad life choices and can't even blame anyone else.
Not sure if that's the original full version, just the one I know.
Mä oon kuullu "maansa myynyt ja voinsa syönyt"
sitten on vielä ''Maansa myynyt ja sanansa syönyt''
december???? what next??? 2024?????
i am very sad to inform y'all that its february and the passage of time is as ceaseless and unstoppable as always.
you never know what someone is going through. for instance i didnt know i was going through anything until about 2 years later. i thought i was just chilling
Edward James, patron of the surrealists, was so besotted with his wife, the dancer Tilly Losch, that when he saw the trail of wet footprints she left up the stairs after her bath at Monkton House, he had them woven into the carpet.
