zoe ghahremani : zoeghahremani.com

There are many good reasons why I have not written a blog in a while., the best of which is my book and the activities surrounding it. Did I forget about my readers and friends? Of course not! Not only did I miss writing something new, but I also spent most of my days and nights on revising/editing another novel for them! The good news is that the novel is almost ready. And the bad news? As I neglected the marketing stuff for Sky of Red Poppies, book sales plummeted. Of course the economy in Greece has a lot to do with that. Then again, maybe I should be grateful to that country for giving me something to blame my own shortcomings on.

Books are in many ways like your children. It isn’t just a matter of conceiving and giving birth. The real work comes later. The minute you turn your head or neglect them, they get into all sorts of trouble. No need to explain why I’m dragging my feet about publishing The Moon Daughter.  It’s just like having another kid. I want the Poppies “out of diaper” before having another. Also, with two books out, I shall need a “book sitter” who will share some of the responsibility so I can sleep at night or go out and have fun sometime! So if you’re a publisher out there waiting for that Greatest American Novel, by all means feel free to respond to this ad and apply for the job. And no, don’t worry, I have an agent, too. And if you’re a friend, a reader or a fan, please don’t give up on me just yet

Life is a series of choices. Each and every day we can make a choice to make the day a positive one or to let it go to waste. On my birthday last week, I chose to be extremely happy despite missing my extended family. Each year it makes me sad to realize I am totally cut off from my past. I remember a time when birthdays meant having my friends over, serving tiny open sandwiches and dancing to 45’s of Paul Anka and Brenda Lee or doing “The Twist!”! Gift selection was easy. Boroumand bookstore on Mashad’s Pahlavi Avenue knew what I wanted for I had invented the “wish list” way back then!

Four decades later, most of those books are still sitting on my bookshelf. I open them one by one and read the inscriptions. “To my best friend in the world!” or “To Zohreh, the best friend one could ever have.” Their young faces parade before me and I wonder where they are today. Last night, as I re-read a book of poetry given to me by a “best friend” I haven’t seen in over forty years, I sent good vibes and silent thanks to all the good people whom I may never see again. Who knows? They may remember me, too!

Speaking at book clubs is much like a walk in a beautiful garden. You prepare for enjoyment, but there’s always a pleasant surprise around the corner. Having attended more than seventy book clubs so far, it is clear that I shall never tire of them.

I’m still not used to how well received Sky of Red Poppies is. I knew it would present some of my culture to the community and hoped to familiarize them with the true nature of their Iranian neighbors and friends, but readers seem to have taken a keen interest and connect with my from the depth of their hearts. I know this because more and more groups invite me to their warm homes and receive me with open arms. From fumbling through recipes for a delicious Persian dinner to sharing their own thoughts and concerns to new immigrants needing advice as they write their own stories, readers have turned this into an unforgettable year in my life.

Last night, the book club members all wore red in honor of my poppies and the hostess had made a lovely cake decorated with strawberries to resemble poppies. The night before, a lady had cooked the Persian Osh-e-Joe. People send me home with flowers, cards, and above all, a smile on my face and a new joy in my heart.

As total strangers turn into good friends, I am filled with gratitude. While I searched for happiness in the wrong places, it had been right here within me. I leave my little cubicle, stand outside with my arms stretched open and shout, “Hey, readers, I love you, more!”

There is a bird chirping outside the window of my work space. The first time I heard the tweets, it filled me with joy as it told me spring has arrived, but after a while, the distraction became annoying, especially when I worked on a chapter that required my undivided attention. I don’t know enough about birds to identify its species, but at one point, I prayed he would move elsewhere. The novelty had worn off and I only saw the negative sides: the interruption, annoying pitch, and monotonous repetition.

How quickly we take our gifts for granted! The thought surprised even me. I sat back and considered all the possibilities out there and realized how fortunate I am that of all the windows, this lone bird has selected mine to be his home. How lucky it is for any writer to work in a place where the interruptions come from a songbird! Fate could have put me anywhere in this wide world. I could be next to a construction site, a fire station, or near a railroad track. Worse yet, I could be short of hearing or not hear at all! The little chirping bird and his annoying high pitch is a gift I had neglected to open.

Life is but a series of choices, one of which is the way we look at the world around us. It is still not easy to concentrate amid the bird’s silly song, but now when I hear him, I put my pen down, listen and savor every note. His song adds another reason to awaken and it’s a message to remind me of the many ways we can contemplate life.

Dream

Last night I had a fabulous dream. It was a bit weird because it looked as if I had entered a place set up for a wedding, but in fact it was an art museum. This magnificent building was located in a floral garden, but unlike other art museums this one only had one room open for viewing. The entire event seemed to be about my homeland Iran and its history. There were paintings, ceramic tiles and artifacts dating back to ancient Persia. I am certain this was America, but with dreams being what they are,  the visitors had only come to learn about Iran.

Dreams are so weird and yet everything one sees is believable. I remember being ushered to the bathroom so that I could get ready. I’ve never changed my clothes in a museum bathroom – let alone apply makeup or curl my hair there! However, in the dream all those actions seemed utterly natural. Afterward someone was waiting for me with a movie camera and the paparazzi were everywhere. Soon I was ushered to a big reception hall where musicians played two of my favorite Persian instruments: the dulcimer and daff. When I looked closer, the performers were two children who in their white shirts looked like little angels. Had I died and gone to Heaven?

When I saw my own paintings around the art gallery, even in the dream I was conscious that none of it was real and yet, I continued to savor the moment and refused to wake up. I remember at some point thinking the ecstasy would last forever. Toward the end I became a queen to receive the visitors. No, wait. It war better. I became a successful writer, whose novel had hit number one! I saw an entire line of supporting readers, each holding a copy of the book presumably written by me. I woke up this morning feeling too sad. Why must all good things happen only in a dream?

And then I made the strangest discovery. My camera has miraculously recorded the entire event. This I am not imagining because I have studied the pictures over and over. It’s all there: the crowd of more than four hundred, the magnificent feast, the musicians, the paintings, they all look so real. This I’ve never heard of. Could that mean what I saw actually did happen?

This year I have done more “Haft seen” preparations than ever before. First I bought one for Café Lily (they are doing a great public event on March 22 to celebrate the Persian New Year with my book.) Then I had to do a sabzeh for the International Women’s Society and I also sent a small display to the good people of KPBS to put in their lobby. But I worked the hardest on what is now on display in a glass case at the San Diego Central Library. It took time because every item had to be nonperishable. I’m pleased with how it turned out and hope you’ll have a chance to visit.

So if you are in the area, I hope you’ll stop by, enjoy the Now Ruz display and take home a copy of the information pamphlet. Then again, if you are a San Diegan, you should make a habit of supporting your library, anyway. This home of knowledge is the only place where, regardless of our economy, you don’t have to spend a fortune to walk away with treasures!

If there were no religions, no calendars and no history of years, what day would you think is the perfect time for a year to end and a new one to begin? If we look at Now Ruz from this perspective, then the day is not so “Persian”, it rather belongs to all mankind. Long before calendars were invented, Persians celebrated the New Year at the same time as did Mother Nature. They called it Now Ruz/NoRooz – the new day – and it arrived at the exact moment of Vernal equinox.

The term “equinox” comes from two Latin words: aequus-equal and nox-night. At an equinox, the Earth’s axis has no tilt in relation to the sun and the latter is observed vertically overhead, resulting in equal lengths of day and night. There are two equinotical points: vernal -March 20/21- and autumnal September 22/23.

Ancient Persians celebrated the start of spring as a new beginning, a tradition that has miraculously survived many turbulent eras. The number seven has always been sacred to the Zoroastrians. The main reason is because Ahura Mazda and the six angels surrounding him were known as the “Seven Holy Immortals.” Weeks before NowRuz, the Zoroastrians, whose livelihood depended primarily on farming, placed platters of seven different grains out for Mother Nature to help them decide which grain does the best and should be their primary seed to cultivate that year. And so a tradition of growing sabzeh- fresh green – was initiated.

A Norooz Spread consists of seven edible items that begin with the letter ‘S’ in Persian. In addition, there is a mirror on display to symbolize light, coins for prosperity, eggs for fertility, candles for warmth and blossoms for the renewal of life. Many people bring home flowers that also begin with ‘S’, such as sonbol-hyacinth, siclaman-cyclamens, and sinereh-cinerarias. And of course, there has to be a book for knowledge (poetry or one of wholly scripture.)

Today over three hundred million people around the world celebrate NowRuz, albeit each in their own way. Persians celebrate the day in a freshly cleaned house, wearing new clothes, and with a taste of delicate sweets. Different parts of the country may have a variety of customs, however, rekindling old relations and focusing on love and forsaking negative emotions is a tradition shared by all. The proper Persian greeting for the day is, NoRooz Pirooz. (May the New Day be victorious!)

Lately I’ve been reading quite a few novels in Persian. I have enjoyed them, yet they puzzle me. I don’t remember this writing style. I grew up the writings of Hedayat, Aal-e-Ahmad, and Bozorg Alavi. They were different. Their stories had a beginning, a middle and to be sure an end. The new ones seem to start in the middle, go to the end and come back to end in the middle. There’s often no beginning. The language is new. Too new for the old me!

I just read a book in which many characters had nothing to do with the story. They passed through to say something, as if their flashing appearances was only to give the prose its full meaning.

Then I read something else, where English phrases were used in Persian alphabet. That took much longer to adapt to. Still, I hols my peace at the Persian book clubs. Why – you ask?

We are touchy people. I’ll bet if I voiced my opinion, someone’s feelings will be hurt, especially if they enjoyed the book more than I did. We tend to take everything personal. It’s like politics. If we like a book, a movie, a character, we become believers, even owners. Any criticism from that point on is as insult.

So while reading a Persian novel, I hide my pencils. There will be no amature editing on the side, no corrections, no comments. Who knows who may borrow the book and see them? I repeat reading the phrase that is chosen as the highlight of this book and do my best to admire it. The book has won many awards and this sentence is highlighted on its cover. While reading, I have tried to overlook the sentences that don’t end – or rather end in ellipsis. It’s not easy as there are several in each page. I also ignore the million question marks and accept the 130 pages as a novel. “When Kayvon isn’t there, my life is crooked in this way. When Keyvon is there my life is crooked in another way. In any case my life is crooked . . .”

No, I’m not going to look for a pencil and nor will I write any comments on the side. I make a mental note never to attempt translation.

So this is what “the spotlight” feels like! Last night we celebrated the launch of the One Book, One San Diego. Sharing the stage with two well-known authors before an audience of five hundred, I could sense the weightlessness of a dream. Any moment now my husband’s voice would wake me up as it had for years. “Honey, you’re going to be late again!” I could see myself staggering to the bathroom, opening one eye at a time and rushing to get the kids ready for school. I could taste my coffee while driving down the slopes and turns of Sheridan Road, and I knew the waiting room would be full of impatience.

I blinked the images away and spotted my family on the second row, beaming their loving smiles and absorbing every moment of the magnificent event. The glory belonged in part to them, a payoff for their sacrifices, for their support along the way, and for all the times that they had managed without me.

The graceful anchorwoman Maureen Cavanough wanted to know what prompted me to write Sky of Red Poppies. I was tempted to answer her question with, “Do we have all night?” But mindful of the time limit, I gave a brief answer that sounded convincing enough.

I missed the presence of my many writer friends. We are a lonely bunch of hermits that don’t get out much. I picture them each in their own writing nook, working hard and dreaming their dreams. I make a mental note to be sure and show up for their moments of triumph. My other good friends are there. I hug the lovely red tulips given me and am reminded of something that I’ve always believed in. Contrary to the common misconception, you don’t get to know your friends in times of trouble. Misfortune seems to attract everyone’s sympathy, but it’s only true friends who can take pleasure in your happiness and good fortune.

Does it really matter how long the splendor lasts? A day later, my heart is still filled with incredible ecstasy and I am reminded of an old Song I used to know in my teens.

Catch a falling star and

put it in your pocket

Save it for a rainy Day. . .

I smile to myself and hum the repeated the last verse,

“Save it for a rainy day!”

I watched the Oscars with a group of fun friends. In fact, we had our own Oscar night: Red Carpet, gold stars on the walkway, and yes, paparazzi. Lots of them!

My friend Susan M. does this every year. I always enjoy her parties, not only because her friends are mostly writers whom I know and love, but because she is a great party planner and her unassuming character puts her guests at ease.

From wine and food to spotlight, glitter, and glamour, we had it all! We were the stars, the audience and yes, the judges! Susan’s keen eye and generous nature had left out no details. Upon arrival – amid the oohs and aahs of the crowd, who had never seen us so dolled-up and bejeweled before – we were ushered into the kitchen to receive our glass of wine, score sheets and special pink pens that were adorned with a golden star! (Not a big movie buff, I was proud of my eleven correct answers out of the twenty-seven!)

When A Separation won for best film in a foreign language, we all cheered MY achievement! Ah, do be careful what you name your children. I smiled inwardly at the irony that if the director – Asghar Farhadi – had lived in the US, people would have called him Oscar all along!

Late at night, as I sat at my computer to write a blog, I checked one more item off my “bucket list” and was delightfully reminded of my old motto. “If there’s something you’ve always wanted to do, DO IT!”