to do or not to do

welcome to today.

i haven't much to write about today, but after looking at all these crafty blogs i'm determined to do something. shall i make a collage? shall i attempt to make something on the sewing machine with the basketful of fabric? shall i try to write something that is not blog related? shall i learn about felting? or shall i take a really long walk and think more about what i should be doing? no, i don't think so, it's 24 degrees outside.

the car that broke down the other day sits in the shop in need of work that will cost about $2K. shall i dismantle it and make a beautiful sculpture?

the exciting news is that my mother, tashi and i might be going to cyprus. my mother is making it possible, as she wants our company. we may not go until the summer which is a good thing because in the summer you can hang out on the fabulous beaches day in and day out.

shall i teach myself greek (it is a language i once spoke until moving to america at age 4)? shall i read the iliad? i've read the odyssey a couple of times but can't seem to get through the iliad. all those battles. perhaps i should try again, after i finish reading bitter lemons, a memoir by lawrence durrell about living in cyprus. this book, a favorite of my mother's, has sat on the bookshelf since i was a wee child. here is a nice descriptive bit by durrell, about bellapais, a mountainside village that is near kyrenia, a harbor town i once lived in. both of these places are in north cyprus, a region occupied by turkish troops. this passage was written in better days, when the greek cypriots and turkish cypriots co-existed peacefully.

"The atmosphere of the village was quite enthralling; its architecture was in the purest peasant tradition -- domed Turkish privies in courtyards fanning out from great arched doors with peasant mouldings still bearing the faint traces of a Venetian influence; old Turkish screen-windows for ventilation. It had the purity and authenticity of a Cretan hamlet. And everywhere grew roses, and the pale clouds of almond and peach blossom; on the balconies grew herbs in window-boxes made from old petrol tins; and crowning every courtyard like a messenger from my Indian childhood spread the luxuriant green fan of banana-leaves, rattling like parchment in the wind. From behind the closed door of the tavern came the mournful whining of a mandolin."