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The Donald Trump...a type of pizza
Now there is an interesting topic for discussion in a tennis forum.
Today I did a bit of work translating a presentation for my dear friend the Swedish midwife in Sweden. Ann-Sofie just returned from the Congo in Africa last week. She had spent three years there some thirty years ago working as a midwife. Educating the locals.
Not too much had changed in some respects. But in the case of the treatment of women...there are some real horror stories. It sort of makes the #metoo thing look like kindergarten. Even childish. But in some areas of the eastern Congo there is little peace. Warlords, outsiders, the national armies. Women become vulnerable in the chaos. Raped by armies...the soldiers sometimes using their weapons to rape. Horrific. You have to wonder about the human condition sometimes. Only in Africa...or perhaps in other parts unknown.
She had taken pictures on her return trip and has a power point presentation to make in front of an audience at here university. I am assisting her in writing a story to go with the pictures. There is a man named Denis Mukwebe...I wonder if I spelled it right. But he is down there somewhere in the heart of darkness doing his best to provide some help for these horribly mutilated, assaulted women. He is a doctor, a surgeon, a father and a man who is trying to something about the social fabric of such a God forbidden zone. That's the story I am assisting her to write. She provides the picture and an explanation and I put it in English...in my style. You can imagine. I am objective and as sharp as the razor's edge.
Interesting story. That was half of my venture into town. Her son Gustaf happens to be my best protege here in Sweden. He is a wonderful young man and I get such a kick out of, such as in this case, having lunch and catching up on life and where it takes him. I have mentioned him before here. I gave him the book "The Razor's Edge" somewhere along the line. The line being where I taught him to play tennis true to my teaching paradigm. He adhered to it to the best of his ability and it isn't over. Tennis is a sport for a lifetime.
He and I went to a local pizza joint in the town of Skultorp where I served nine years as the tennis coach/teacher and never missed a day or was late. Not once. Pretty remarkable for a man of my age. I guess I am lucky...as my father said about himself today. At ninety years of age. He said that of himself. He is quite a guy. I went to this pizza joint specifically on account that my wife brought it to my attention. Pizza here in Sweden is not what you would call a traditional American fare or even an Italian. It's more like a Turkish venue where 95% plus of the pizza joint are owned and run by foreigners. Culture being what it is these days...there is a divide sometimes where the blanks are filled in in a seemingly arbitrary manner. Pizza.
At this pizza establishment they have about 59 different varieties of pizza. They give them names. One is called "The Mafiosa". I used to like to order this one. A strange taste for the name. A bit incongruent. Today I order one called a "Kabob Pizza". Something you might anticipate in a Turkish pizza establishment. Lo and behold there was an item on the menu that drew me to the joint in the first place. It is called "The Donald Trump". My wife saw it in the paper. So I went there and ordered one for her take out. You know...instead of flowers.
We brought the horses in and I cut the pizza into quarters and gave her a quarter...the rest in the fridge. She ate it. I asked her how it was. She said, "It was good." A mouthful for my wife to say. I asked her if it reminded her of Donald Trump. "No", she replied.
"Ok", I said and that was that. Meanwhile the day leaves in indelible impression on my mind. A favourable one. I don't get out much these days. I spoke with Gustaf about my past a bit. I've been lucky. Just like my DaddyO!
Today I did a bit of work translating a presentation for my dear friend the Swedish midwife in Sweden. Ann-Sofie just returned from the Congo in Africa last week. She had spent three years there some thirty years ago working as a midwife. Educating the locals.
Not too much had changed in some respects. But in the case of the treatment of women...there are some real horror stories. It sort of makes the #metoo thing look like kindergarten. Even childish. But in some areas of the eastern Congo there is little peace. Warlords, outsiders, the national armies. Women become vulnerable in the chaos. Raped by armies...the soldiers sometimes using their weapons to rape. Horrific. You have to wonder about the human condition sometimes. Only in Africa...or perhaps in other parts unknown.
She had taken pictures on her return trip and has a power point presentation to make in front of an audience at here university. I am assisting her in writing a story to go with the pictures. There is a man named Denis Mukwebe...I wonder if I spelled it right. But he is down there somewhere in the heart of darkness doing his best to provide some help for these horribly mutilated, assaulted women. He is a doctor, a surgeon, a father and a man who is trying to something about the social fabric of such a God forbidden zone. That's the story I am assisting her to write. She provides the picture and an explanation and I put it in English...in my style. You can imagine. I am objective and as sharp as the razor's edge.
Interesting story. That was half of my venture into town. Her son Gustaf happens to be my best protege here in Sweden. He is a wonderful young man and I get such a kick out of, such as in this case, having lunch and catching up on life and where it takes him. I have mentioned him before here. I gave him the book "The Razor's Edge" somewhere along the line. The line being where I taught him to play tennis true to my teaching paradigm. He adhered to it to the best of his ability and it isn't over. Tennis is a sport for a lifetime.
He and I went to a local pizza joint in the town of Skultorp where I served nine years as the tennis coach/teacher and never missed a day or was late. Not once. Pretty remarkable for a man of my age. I guess I am lucky...as my father said about himself today. At ninety years of age. He said that of himself. He is quite a guy. I went to this pizza joint specifically on account that my wife brought it to my attention. Pizza here in Sweden is not what you would call a traditional American fare or even an Italian. It's more like a Turkish venue where 95% plus of the pizza joint are owned and run by foreigners. Culture being what it is these days...there is a divide sometimes where the blanks are filled in in a seemingly arbitrary manner. Pizza.
At this pizza establishment they have about 59 different varieties of pizza. They give them names. One is called "The Mafiosa". I used to like to order this one. A strange taste for the name. A bit incongruent. Today I order one called a "Kabob Pizza". Something you might anticipate in a Turkish pizza establishment. Lo and behold there was an item on the menu that drew me to the joint in the first place. It is called "The Donald Trump". My wife saw it in the paper. So I went there and ordered one for her take out. You know...instead of flowers.
We brought the horses in and I cut the pizza into quarters and gave her a quarter...the rest in the fridge. She ate it. I asked her how it was. She said, "It was good." A mouthful for my wife to say. I asked her if it reminded her of Donald Trump. "No", she replied.
"Ok", I said and that was that. Meanwhile the day leaves in indelible impression on my mind. A favourable one. I don't get out much these days. I spoke with Gustaf about my past a bit. I've been lucky. Just like my DaddyO!
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