And how did CJ’s Tales til Christmas end? Read on.

Christmas, Not Yet

On the twelfth day of Ramadan, Maalem Hamid and I arrived at the shop about 8AM. Maalem Hamid finished the outstanding work. I watched him do the final touches. I helped where I could; but I was tired and mostly watched. He did a lot of detailed tooling; his assistant did leather stamping.

When they finished the first book, the maalem proudly offered it to me for examination. I took it. I hefted it. I felt it. I inspected it. I paged through it. Yes, it was beautiful–content aside, it was every bit as delectable a product as I could have ever hoped for.

About two in the afternoon, when he had finished the details, he wrapped the five books in thick brown paper himself. Then he ceremoniously presented to me the final five books. I placed the balance of what was due for his services in his hand. Then we shook hands. He was proud. I was proud.

And honestly, it had been such a pleasure to watch the exceptional craftsman handle his tools, and produce such a refined result in appearance, in touch, and in technical strength. I thanked him.

He walked with me to the Place El Hedim where I took a Petit Taxi. He and I both waved until he was out of sight.

Almost sunset when I arrived in the Ville Nouvelle. Lights on in Tom’s place. Knocked and showed them one of the final copies. My time in Morocco was up. Over the past six months, Tom and Marcela had given me shelter every time I needed it. I owed them.

Arranged to have dinner together at a 5-star Ville Nouvelle hotel restaurant the next night.

I spent the day packing. I took Marcela and Tom for dinner at the Hotel Transatlantique with a full-blown late-night Ramadan Iftar buffet special, filled with more options than I could list. It didn’t make much difference to me because all through the Iftar dinner I was dreaming not just to be home for Christmas, but of a White Christmas.

***

Christmas Now

The morning of the fourteenth day of Ramadan–couldn’t believe it–my personal last day of Ramadan–my last day in Morocco!

Tom drove me to Casablanca airport. We left early in the morning when it was still dark. Three hours on the road–a Moroccan autoroute. Raining and gray, low clouds all the way. The earth was sucking in all the moisture. Plants looked happy. The ride, though, was a slog.

I was emotionally depleted. My last Moroccan memories like the first–sensually extravagant. We had parked and I was walking. Just at the pedestrian entry to the airport terminal–my sense of smell was assaulted by–clusters of Eriobotrya japonica trees in flower–excessively sweet to the place where fragrance meets odor. Goodbye Morocco.

Finally, I was off the ground. Casa-Brussels-NYC-home. I was outta there! Phew! Never thought it would happen. Relief.

But then there was also sadness. Ma’salama. I’ll never be the same. But then I mentally blinked–twice–reset.

Wonder what Santa will bring?

Back home. I paused in transit in New York, had to go through passport control and customs. Outside, it was snowing. Thanked my lucky stars to be standing there where at least I hoped I could live happy in the land of the free. The country where we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our heads.

Last flight…after gathering my luggage, I looked around and thought, I am starting again. LittleWing was the first I saw, then Kate and Sam–they all met me.

Kate joked, “Look who got a Med sun tan.”

Sam observed and, with a smile on his face, gruffly asked, “Did you order this winter wonderland snowstorm?”

But Sachy was the first to wrap her arms around me–eyes all aglow–a huge smile on her face as she ran up to greet me. Hugged me hard and in my ear she whispered, “Home for Christmas!”

I stepped back, looked deeply into her eyes. It was her, Sachy, in real life, in front of me. Could this be? I held Sachy by her shoulders and said, “Lovely weather for a sleigh ride!”

I put my arms around her again, pulled her ever so close and, in the tightest of hugs, I whispered in her ear, “This is not a dream–my heart is warm–I couldn’t have done it without you!”

***

CJ made it home; but Morocco, unbeknownst to him, lingered.

***

If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv