Fresh blueberries and tarts

Today, after going to sleep after 3:30am for no apparent reason and getting out of the flat past 3pm for the aforementioned apparent reason, Liam and I took a stroll around town. We ended up his flatmate Ed’s workplace, which happens to be a cinema he perfunctorily walked out of to take a break with us. After dropping by the charity clothing shop, the flat of a nearby Baha’i, Lindsey, and the smoothie shop, we headed to the grocery store, where I bought blueberries (my first fresh blueberries in at least 3 years, can you believe it?!). On the way back to the flat in a taxi, Liam was engaged in a discussion on football with the driver, whose accent was wholly incomprehensible to yours truly. The only thing more amazing than my incomprehension was Liam’s passable knowledge of the sport.

We then headed to a Baha’i-sponsored devotional centered on the theme of thanksgiving. The people were, naturally, very friendly and eager to hear news of the situation in the Holy Land. Upon leaving the gathering, Liam referred to me, for not the first time that day, as a “daft tart”, an apparently endearing term, at least to Liam. Afterwards, we had a spot of dinner at a vegetarian restaurant (for no particular reason for those wondering, except that of yummy food). When we walked in, I assertively pushed past some gentle Scots to get to the couches, since Liam had expressed his wish to sit there rather than a table. Looks of astonishment were elicited from Liam and the other patrons, as apparently in this country, civilized folk wait to be seated (a rare phenomenon in Haifa, if not certain establishments in the States). Although gentle, a volatile undercurrent runs in their veins, and I would have run back ‘round to Liam, except that this would require pushing the people out of the way again. So I just stood there looking foolish, while Liam, as he later recounted, was forced to unleash “a concentrated blast of white hot people skills, exposure to which normally renders most people crispy” to diffuse the situation.

The heels of dinner were followed hotly by a walk around town, including a stop by the art school designed by the uber-famous architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh. It’s very art-nouveau and every wrought-iron detail was designed by him.

During our time out and about, Liam’s outward-focused kindliness manifested itself many times, reminding me very much of my father. Like when he purchased a soda drink for, and at the request of, a homeless fellow outside a store we stopped in, walked and talked with another guy who was lost, and attempted to befriend, as told by the owner, a 12-year-old husky out for a stroll. I like to think (in only a partially joking way) that Liam’s regard for others can be chalked up to the fact that “he’s a professional”. Meaning, he’s a social worker who makes a living showing kindness and patience to individuals with severe psychological disorders.

Tomorrow we hope to head to the modern art museum and a show by one of my favorite new bands, from Canada, “The Islands”, who out of sheer consequence, are playing tonight in Glasgow.