Mecca

I am in Istanbul at the moment and my room with a lovely view faces Mecca. How do I know, you might ask? The arrow on the ceiling coupled with the extra loud dose of prayer I am being issued. As my room faces Mecca, the loudspeakers on all the mosques seem to be broadcasting in full stereo volume as I work. It's as if the man with the sing song praying is right beside me making sure that I don't insert anything into the documents I am drafting or emails I am sending that might corrupt the souls of people more trusting then an old jaded PR girl. I needed a break and the melodic prayer got me thinking about Mecca. Personally, as I am not Islamic, I think that everyone has their own version of Mecca. The place or the time or the person that brings you back to who you are and what you stand for. Life gets out of control more often then not and something has to bring you back to reality. So fine reader (well I think it might be more then one now) where is your Mecca? Mine is my sister Julie. She's not my real sister, but we grew up together and she's like blood. Coupled with my little niece and nephew that she kindly bestowed on this world, nothing grounds me more then her voice. The laughter of the little ones is like coming home and her words always remind of who I am. It's over the phone most of the time, but none the less, they are my Mecca.