Slap slaps

If you are anything like me then you will be aware that something's just don't seem right, that they are not as they should be. There is something very fishy about flip flops. Why are they called flip flops and not something else? When i was walking back from the store today wearing my trusted foot attire known as "flip flops" i had the strangest of thoughts. I realised that if i flicked my foot a little i could make a noise that sounded like a slap on a bald man's head. So my thought was this....if the word "flip flop" is meant to be the sound they make, then why are they not called "slap slaps"? That would make more sense especially as my understanding of the word flip means to turn over and flop means to hang down, so upon my feet i wear a pair of turned over hanging down shoes. It just dosen't make sense. But slap slap, that makes sense or why not call them "shoes that fall off when trying to run". Proberly because that name wouldn't be as catchy as "flip flop" Also, imagine going into a store and asking for a pair of shoes that fall off when i run.....its an easy way to convince ourselves that we really don't want them. What's the point in having something that will fall off? So i did a little study on the ever faithful and colourful freedom accessories...........
Did you know that the use of the word flip-flop for thong sandals is a modern term dating from the 1960’s that describes what is probably the oldest form of footwear still being worn (the term flip flap has been used in various echoic senses since 1529). Flip flops have been around for at least six thousand years. As a point of comparison, primitive shoes are shown in rock paintings dating from the late Paleolithic (Stone Age) period some 15,000 years ago. There are depictions of flip flops in ancient Egyptian murals on tombs and temples from about 4,000 B.C.
The oldest surviving examples of thongs were made from papyrus leaves circa 1,500 B.C., which are on display in the British Museum. Early flip flops were made from a multitude of materials. Ancient Egyptian sandals were made from papyrus and palm leaves; rawhide was used by the Masai in Africa; wooden sandals were made in India; rice straw was used in China and Japan; the leaves of the sisal plant provided twine for sandals in South America; and the indigenous populations of Mexico used the yucca plant. (maybe this is why some people say eeewww flip flops yuk! :)) Get it?
Styles too varied with the differing placement of the toe strap, as subsequent civilizations preferred using different toes. The Greeks for example made use of the big toe; the Romans, the second toe; and the Mesapotanians, the third toe. These distinctive, physical entities were recognised and captured in Egyptian statues, and this was thought to represent the celebration of other cultures. Legend has it that courtesans in ancient Rome arranged the nails on the soles of their thongs to spell out follow me in the dust of the street.
The Nihon fuuzokushi jiten (Encyclopedia of the History of Japanese Manners and Customs) reports the wide use of zori (a form of flip flop with a thong held between the toes) in Japan from at least the Heian period (794-1185) Japanese children have traditionally worn them when learning to walk.
Given their long history, flip flops up to now have changed relatively little from ancient times.
In America, the first flip flops started to appear after World War II as soldiers brought Japanese zori back from the war, often as souvenirs. The precursor to the modern flip flop really began to catch on, however, when soldiers returned from the Korean War in the 1950's during the postwar 1950’s boom. Soldiers wore these predecessors to what we now think of as flip-flops, which were cheap rubber editions that frequently caused blisters and were so poorly made that they didn’t last long.
As the footwear entered into American popular culture, it became redesigned and changed into the bright colors of Fifties design. As “pop culture,” flip flops became defining examples of an informal lifestyle and came to represent the California lifestyle in general and surf culture in particular.
It seemed like all kids wore them to the beach or the pool and cheap rubber flip flops appeared in every dime store and beach shop. Over time, designs spread from rubber to wood to leather to bamboo and stylized platforms, yet all of them remaining true to the original base design of the early rubber flip flops.
So next time you go shopping for a pair of flip flops just think about their history. 1000's of years old and yet still going strong. Who says "crocs" are the new thing ( i have a pair of those too, orange ones and they are very comfortable) Great people of the past have worn the famous thong sandal known to us as flip flops, but me.........
I say 3 cheers for the slap slaps.
Hip hip... hoorah! Hip hip ...hoorah! Hip hip... hoorah! Jolly good show.


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

Blue

As the smell of home cooked bread drifted through the streets of downtown New York the children of that area played football in the dark dirty ally ways covered with a variety of old newspapers and rotten fruit. Every once in a while the breeze would bring a strong aroma of fish to accompany the bread. Young sportsman were cheering as the ball hit the wall between two jackets. "Goal!" they would shout and their spirits would be lifted and teamwork and unity became the focus.
Sitting across the street was a run down building with a queue of people waiting to go inside. Elderly men and women and young children were the visitors. Upon exit of the house of hope came people carrying a weekly supply of fish and bread. Standing in the queue was a small girl called Golda. Her job was to help the disabled people of the area known to the locals as Hell's Kitchen. Every week Golda would collect the ration books and patiently wait for 3 hours. Her mother taught her at an early age that to help others is a good focus to have in life. Her mother would give her a small coin every week for her efforts and sometimes her disabled friends would contribute too when they had it. This enabled her to save her money and treat herself with her favourite hobby once a month. Golda loved to swim, she loved the feeling of freedom around her while in the crystal blue water. Her time at the local swimming pool took her away from the dirty dusty streets of Hell's Kitchen and gave her a new life. A life where she would dream of jumping off the diving board into a pool of freedom. She would skip and dance as she made her way to the blue swimming baths. She saved and saved week after week, she would put a little aside to buy herself a new swimming hat which she had seen in one of the local stores. Then that wonderful day came for Golda. She walked into the store and asked to buy the hat in the window. Holding onto it tightly she made her way to the pool where she eagerly pulled her long flowing hair up inside the rubber hat. She was especially pleased with it because it matched the colour of the water. One day when she was dreaming by the pool, a young handsome man approached her. "That's a pretty swimming hat, the colour looks good on you" "Thankyou, my name is Golda, what's yours?" "Harold" replied the handsome hero, "my name is Harold, i have seen you here before, you are a good swimmer" and that was the beginning of their journey.
Harold worked in a small shoe menders with his uncle Moshie. But he had a secret passion, he loved to paint. He would spend most of his free time just sitting and watching and painting people. Some of his artwork had been produced in a small magazine for upcoming artists of New York, which he was very proud of.
The years went by and Harold and Golda still met reguarly and they had been seen holding hands once in a while too but only in quiet places, to hold hands in a public place was frowned upon within this community. Harold soon had made enough money to buy a small car with white wall tires and a horn that sounded like an african bird choking. Together they delivered supplies to the poor and needy and that meant they could spend all day together as they helped more and more people. Occassionaly they would stop the car and the young artist would see something that caught his eye and he sketched it. It was a beautiful time for these two lovebirds as they grew closer togther. Golda kept swimming and became really good. She had achieved a silver medal in the olymipcs and he had become a well known artist especially within the New York area.
It was a friday afternoon and a shabbat in the Jewish world and a time to give thanks for the good things in their lives. But this was a special friday, this was the shabbat that they would both remember for a long time. He turned to Golda, "Golda, i have had 2 dreams in my life, the first is ever since i have known you i have wanted to draw you and the second is i want to go home to Israel, but now i have a third dream too" "Israel? do they have swimming pools there? what's the third dream Harold?" "Golda.......will you marry me?" Golda jumped for joy as this had been her dream since that first day in her new blue swim hat.
The car was sold, the glass was broken and shouts of "Mazel Tov" echoed through the streets. Families were said goodbye too and a small inexpensive ring was upon Gloda's finger. The swimmer and the artist made their way to the promised land where they started work on a kibbutz along with other young couples all hoping for a brighter future. Friendships were made and the once pale skin of a native New Yorker became brown and dusty. Children were born and the blessings came. A small family living their dreams within a community in Israel, a far cry from the streets of Hell's Kitchen. Their children had different dreams as the years went on, dreams of the big United States Of America, so after family discussions and years of saving money and working hard in the fields of Israel, the words of goodbye were heard again in Golda's ears.
Soon after the seperation from the now grown up children , Harold fell ill and didnt recover. Once again , Golda was alone in this world. She had her friends, but she missed the connection of the heart she once shared with the young adventurous picasso. She longed for her family to be near her, times were not easy for Golda. She was constantly reminded of her time standing in a queue in downtown New York, alone and scared. The days past, the weeks and then months. No contact from her children until one day...she received a letter from her grandson. This young college student wanted to come to see his grandma in the land of milk of honey.
So after preparing her home and arranging the details, she made her way to the airport to meet him.
Tired and worn out she had smile on her face, a smile of hope, a smile of a heart connection, a smile that said.....i am not alone anymore, i have a family and they are coming to see me.


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

Airport

An airport is like a circle. Its something that is complete within itself. Within the perimeter of an airport there is a rainbow of emotions. Every emotion known to man can be found somewhere in an airport. Sometimes they are hidden and need to be searched for, others are so visible that its impossible to miss them. A circle is something that has no beginning and no end and so...... a journey into an airport begins.

On one hand, there is the departure lounge. Full of adventure, dreams and explorers. The businessman sitting drinking coffee while checking his last minute emails before his transatlantic flight to New York for a meeting to buy a bankrupt company that makes leather shoes. Standing a few feet away is a young woman with her cell phone in her hand and a can of coke in the other, sending her last "i love you" text to her boyfriend who is making his way back to his car. As he puts on his sunglasses he feels a humbleness towards her as her flight back to her parents could be the most important one, for reconciliation is the reason of her journey.
A backpacker sits on his bag holding his lunch, a burger wrapped in silver paper dripping tomato on his ripped faded blue jeans. The same jeans he wore as he scaled down the rock face attached to a red and blue twisted piece of rope secured by his instructor to a nearby tree. A long stare comes upon his face as he remembers the moment where he could only dream of such adventures. A tiny smile appears, two more mouthfuls and the burger disappears into the explorers stomach.
Quietly peering over the top of his newspaper is an elderly gentleman whose face portrays a distant memory of his adventures and how he met his second wife on safari in the depths of Africa. A dark night had brought them together as they sat back to back each holding a gun ready for the prowling lions surrounding their gathering of tents.
Soothed by the constant sound of the downfall of water, surrounded by the relaxing colour of the lush green plants is a young girl who has a tear rolling down her cheek. A tear that has been brought on by a new beginning in her life, as she starts the first steps of a new journey to live with her great aunt in an old victorian town house overlooking the river thames in a distant far off place called London. Although excited about the adventure she is anxious so she holds tightly onto a fluffy worn out one eyed teddy bear whose left arm has come undone at the seams, a gift from her grandmother to her mother which was passed onto the young traveller before the fatal car accident that orphaned her. The heels on her black shoes are wearing thin as she taps a foot on the ground, maybe to control the tears, maybe to release a moment of anger.
A woman's voice booms through the sky like a cloud of authority "would passenger Thompson bound for Copenhagen please make your way to gate 16 immediately". Suddenly a loud scream as Miss Thompson turns and crashes into a nearby plant, flustered and excited she gathers her belongings and quickly returns them back to her brown leather shoulder bag with a flower attached to the side of it. As she stands up the heal on her shoe snaps and if it hadnt had been for that handsome pilot standing nearby she would have fallen again.
"Are you ok Madam?" "i think so", replies the laughing Miss Thompson,
" i am so excited i cant even think straight. What do i wear? What colour shoes? How do i smile? What will his parents be like? Will they like me? What if they dont like me? ooohhhhhhh its too much for me to think about" "slow down Madam, you are confusing me, what is happening? " as a smile came from the pilots face, "i'm getting married Sir, i have been talking with Roger for 6 months now online and today is the day i meet him and we are getting married, does my hair look ok? first impressions are important you know." With a comforting smile, he takes her hand and looks deep into her eyes...."Madam, Roger is a lucky man."

On the other hand, there is the arrivals hall. A brightly coloured area that wears a golden cloak filled with hope, anticipation and a collection of suspended coloured ballons that have floated up to the ceiling after many explosions of joy and togetherness. The strings from this blanket of colour hang down and gently dance with the breeze from the air conditioned atmosphere,. The colours are eyecatching, a collection of pinks, blues, reds, and silver all finished off with splashes of oranges and greens. The majestic colomuns supporting the multicoloured ceiling have a historic feel to them and a splender of the ancient King Soloman from biblical times.
Gathered around the glass barriers are a number of expantant people, watching the clock, waiting for the sign to say their long awaited loved ones have landed. The months have gone by slowly for these greeters, and they wait patiently to be reunited again.
A group of young men, all wearing identical black jackets which cover their crispy white shirts, and matching black hats, laugh and joke around as they plan their circular positions for the dance that will surround their Jewish traveller on return into their close group of trusted friends.
A young man holds a bunch of flowers with nervous hands, checking that his breath smells good and that his hair is in order, he straightens the knot in his tie and plays with the button on his jacket quietly talking to himself "jacket done up or jacket undone, i knew i should have left it in the car." He checks his watch and then checks it again. Will she be pleased to see him?
Standing by the main doors are 3 gentleman holding signs. Each with something different written on the card, but each of them looking fed up as they wait. Maybe their associates have been delayed again, and the thought of another job overwhelms them. "day after day i come here and wait, and day after day it's never me flying anywhere."
Over by the coffee bar there is an annoying sound of a snoring sleeper, an elderly lady with a blue hat sits with her head down asleep on the chair, waiting for her grandson to come and visit her on his annual summer vacation. The preparation of cleaning her home, ironing the linen and cooking up some home made food has all been a bit too much for this once enegetic olympic swimmer this week.
The smell of coffee drifts through the majestic hall as it's freshly made by 3 young women in matching orange shirts.The queue for refreshments is small but its a long shift for these coffee makers on their feet all day
Suddenly, an explosion of cheers go up to accompany the ballons as the passengers start to come through the frosted glass door. A young woman throws down her bag and runs into the arms of a young man. Flowers are scattered everywhere and the petals land on their shoulders as they hold each other so closely. The golden light from the surroundings disappears between them as the worries and doubts erase from both of their minds as they embrace each other with what can only be described as pure love.
The shout of joy wakes up the elderly lady and immediately she cries out "Harold!" Realising she was dreaming, she picks up her false teeth which have accidentally slipped out and fallen onto an open book that rests on her lap, she looks at the arrival board. Is this the plane that her grandson was on? No, so more snoring will be heard in the echoing hall i'm sure.
A smart looking woman walks out through the glass doors into the golden hall. Carrying her laptop and a suitcase she has no-one to greet her. But this is the start of a new life for her as a teacher for troubled children. In the awakening of realising the local temperature, she removes her tweed jacket to reveal a simple but elegant white blouse. She makes her way to the exit, looking for the signs for the trains as she walks forward. Her journey is still not over but in 2 or 3 hours she will be in her new home, starting her new job in a new country. Hopefully this time she can find a man who really respects her. Just before the exit, she puts down her bag, checks her train ticket and takes a deep sigh.....and says in a voice that speaks into the future...."let the journey begin."


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

The world's best compliment

Recently i received a very precious gift, something very simple but extremely beautiful. A friend of mine decided to touch my heart in a way that no-one has before. They gave me the worlds best compliment, well to me it was anyway. My friend said to me that "i am an oasis" I was curious about their choice of words and was then greeted with an explanation that confirmed what i had first heard. I have never seen myself as someone who could even resemble an oasis but more like the complete opposite. But an oasis is a place where there is a refreshing peace from the trials of the day, a place where one can relax. I was told that not everyone can see an oasis. So i think it would take one of the few following things to know its location.

1. An explorer would know its location.
2. An explorer would look for an oasis by a process of illimination.
3. An explorer would find it by complete accident.



An oasis is usually hidden and only reveals its beauty to an explorer who is patient and who lets the heart of the oasis speak for itself.
The thought that i keep thinking about is.... that i know myself and i know i have barriers around me, but this person revealed something in me instantly and revealed to the surface a part of my character that i had misplaced through time. This makes me think that my explorer friend knew exactly how to find my most hidden place. The one thing that impresses me is that someone can still find it.

A Lebonese-American author called Kahlil Gibran once said that...
"Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking."

Thankyou my friend for giving me the world's best compliment.


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

Too far from home

I was thinking today about these 4 words..."Too far from home" and in the natural i am a long way from my old home, but in the emotional... to be "too far from home" is my dream. To me, it speaks of being in a place where the future is more inviting than where i had come from and that speaks of one thing and one thing only.....my future partner. To be too far from home is a dream and a hope, where i want to give all of myself for her, to always be willing to put her before myself, her desires, her dreams. Not in a people pleasing kind of way but more in a way of complete submission to her and to who she is. To be able to give unconditionally is beautiful thing. To always be the person they need at that exact point, means i want to stay alert and observant to their every need. Also as i support her she will in turn hopefully support me too, so then you have 2 people working together as a team, and when 2 people work towards the same goal it is easy to put their own issues aside. Too far from home to me also means not wanting to turn back, a desire to complete the journey.

This is one of my favourites quote's from a French existential writer called Albert Camus,born in 1913 and died in 1960.

"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow; Don't walk behind me, I may not lead; Walk beside me, and just be my friend."

Its all about team work, walking towards the same goal and that might be to have a family, to be successful in their work or even just living the dream of never wanting to go back, because the journey they have been on has taken them too far from home. To get to that point of really not wanting it to be any different than it has become must be a wonderful experience. I remember i asked someone once, if their partner died would they ever consider marriage again, and they said "to go through all those challenges again? no thankyou, i wouldn't want to go through all that again with anyone except my wife" He was too far from home, he had and still has a desire to keep moving forward and fulfilling their dreams together.

So this is my deepest hope, my biggest dream, to be too far from home.




© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

The things that count....

I have come to the conclusion that my favourite word in the english language is....."Friendship." They say that you can tell who someone is by the number of friends they have. I personally think it should be more like this....

You can tell who someone is by the quality of friends they have not quantity. I am so thankful for the friends in my life, the ones that are there when i need them are also the ones that are there when i dont need them. Only a true friend will stand by us through a storm, comfort us and guide us. Only a true friend can get away with saying that stuff that we dont want to hear merely because we know they care and have our best interests at heart. We all come from different backgrounds and that is what makes friendship so special, the fact that there are differences are not so important. So i just want to honour the few but dear friends i have and say thankyou. Thankyou for staying and thankyou for being you.


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

So why Travelling Boy?

So why Travelling Boy?
Surely the obvious answer would be because i like to travel, i like to explore and i like to see new places? Well that is the easy answer. The real reason i called my blog traveling boy is because i am constantly travelling. To me, the understanding of the word "travelling" is to go somewhere that has not been explored or to go to a place that needs to be re-visited, because not everything that has been dreamed of has been accomplished. The search for freedom is normally incorporated within that dream and to experience life beyond my wildest dreams, or as the famous starship enterprise from star trek could do....transport me to another dimension.
When i was walking to work this morning, surrounded by the overpowering heights of the majestic northern hills of Israel, a tune suddenly played on my ipod and my journey began. Out of my headphones came the sound of those haunting bagpipes that rolled across the hills of Scotland in the Mel Gibson movie Braveheart. I caught myself thinking about William Wallace himself and if i would have been as brave as him, if i would have had the strength and endurance that he had running through his scottish veins, to fight until the end for the things that i believe in. But what do i belive in? Do i believe that i can be true to myself whatever the circumstances? Then it dawned on me like a new sunrise....i am not as brave as that highland warrior. Why? because i have usually run from situations that would enable my character to grow. To go to a place in my mind where it just me and my heart, well.... that takes a brave man. To be in that place reminds me of an amazing piece of poetry called The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living,I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are,I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,for your dreams,for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes."

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

I heard on Ally Mcbeal the other day, ( which happens to be my favourite tv show).....

"If you can look back over the past year and not see times where there have been tears of joy of sadness then consider it a wasted year"

......but to get to that point there has to be a change within ourselves. To reach that point of our eyes to leak we have to undergo a change, in our thinking, in our heart and the majority of times in our actions.

Recently i have seen the movie "UP".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GroDErHIM_0

Its a story about people who travel to fullfill a dream they once shared in their dreams. out of their comfort zone they conquered, but it was not an easy journey for them. I really enjoyed the film and was encouraged with so much from it, so much hope, so much guidance and comfort, and a realisation that i am not the only person in this world who has allowed fear to stop me from moving forward.


So why Travelling Boy?...... because life is a journey, welcome to my world.


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris

New beginnings

After living here in Israel for already a year i thought it was about time i started writing a blog about the things in my life, thoughts, activity's, hopes and dreams, all the regular stuff. So here goes....


© Travelling Boy content belongs to Philip D Norris