Same Sky, Same Stars...

I see the same stars through my window
That you see through yours
But we're worlds apart
Worlds apart

And I see the same skies through brown eyes
That you see through blue
But we're worlds apart, worlds apart

Just like the earth, just like the sun
Two worlds together are better than one

I see the sun rise in your eyes
That you see in mine
But we're worlds apart, worlds apart


I see the same stars through my window
That you see through yours
But we're worlds apart, worlds apart


And you see the same skies through brown eyes
That I see through blue
But we're worlds apart, worlds apart

Just like the earth, just like the sun
Two worlds together are better than one

I see the friendship in you eyes
That you see in mine
But we're worlds apart, worlds apart

Together, but worlds apart

From the Broadway Musical, Big River ( 1985 )

New York

I sang parts of these lyrics just last week...in Egypt. Kathy ( remember, "pyramid lady" ) and Ralph ( remember the man whose palm was bloodied because I was squeezing it so hard when we went down into Tutmoses III tomb ) and I were walking around Luxor.

After singing a couple of lines of the lyrics, I said:"I'm going to call you two in a couple of weeks and sing this into the phone. By that time, we'll have all gotten back into our routine, and forgotten the wonders of this world--and the connection we've made."

I haven't been home 12 hours, and already I'm reaching into my stash of memories to fortify me to embrace reality. Well, not really. I'm just trying to get back into the game, put out fires, find out what is smelling up the fridge ( or as my Quebecoise friends from the trip would say: "C'a pue"! ), and get the sand out of my clothing.

The bags are unpacked and put away. The kilim rug from Giza is down, my grandson's carved camel is on the table ready for him, the basket of pistachio-filled dates is there, too. Oh, and I can't forget the forty-nine scarves I had to haggle for, and the basalt stone-carved scarab to remind me of the Egyptian notion of resurrection. They're on the same table. My treasures.

But I miss my fellow travelers. Not all 28, to be sure. Some were just plain annoying. Others, well, perhaps a bit odd. But there were folks I looked forward to seeing at breakfast in our moveable feast of Egypt. The Quebecoise, Nicole and Denny, who would have rapid-fire conversations in French, their faces intense, their heads tilted toward one another as if they didn't want to miss a word of the other's thought.

And Al and Joie, the sunshine pair retired in Vero Beach, who were probably older than they looked but navigated as well as some of the much younger folks--and ( bless them ) were always ready to find the bar in wherever we ended the day ( something that can be complicated in Muslim Egypt ).

Finally, I miss Tom and Haskill, the retired elders in the group who live in South Carolina and I'm quite certain are delighted to be back in their seaside home with their own bed, pillow, sounds--and no hand luggage to carry. They looked after each other every inch of the way. Or as Haskill would say in her lovely, husky, slightly detectable southern drawl, her grey/blue eyes twinkling : " I've been keepin' an eye on him for 56 years. That's a long time ( but her word sounded like "taaammm" with plenty of accent on the "mmm"!

When I was sick with the Nile version of Montezuma's Revenge in Aswan,( don't you love the name dropping? I'll get over it soon, dear readers ) they all wrapped on my cabin door late in the afternoon to see if I was well enough to come for the sail on the felluca. I'll never forget their smiling faces as I dragged myself out of bed and answered the door.

So, to all of them, and the others not mentioned but remembered:

"I see the same stars that you see". But they don't make me feel worlds apart from all of you.

To the contrary.
MC