Two of my daughters strolling around together during our trip to The Magic Kingdom.
Two of my daughters strolling around together during our trip to The Magic Kingdom.
Another day goes by and my heart still yearns for the tender touch of acceptance. I heard its sorrowful sound and was powerless to sooth its cry. I was called upon its dark nature to immerse my senses in its passionate expression, yet, a tone of powerful calm held my faculties with blissful attention.
Today I almost touched it. I nearly held a cello in my arms, but I was afraid to disturb its perfect image in my mind with a note of reality that might have destroyed our unspoken mutual expectations. The grand cello I love plays for me with perfect clarity and I listen, I appreciate, I dream.
I long to wield an instrument that could sing through mournful sounds with peaceful and reassuring notes that become a pleasant melody. I want to be the one who brings an unexpected baritone hero out of the background of a bass ensemble that is mostly unnoticed, but instead, I listen, I appreciate, I dream.
Tomorrow perhaps, I will have the courage to approach it, to introduce myself, to surrender my fears in its unconditional acceptance of my desires; but in turn, I will have to detach myself from the perfect balance between its current master and their melodic relationship that captivates my attention.
Today, today I long for my own cello.
Strike a Chord
Do you play an instrument? Is there a musical instrument whose sound you find particularly pleasing? Tell us a story about your experience or relationship with an instrument of your choice.
How good is your sense of smell? If it isn’t that great like mine, what has been the funniest instance when you mistook a hideous smell for that of a pleasant one? I would love to be able to appreciate fragrant smells more completely but I can’t tell you the many times I thought night blossoming flowers smelled like cat pee or a delicious beef stew that smells just like dog food to me. Also, I cringe to the times I followed the smell of freshly made quesadillas to the location of my beautiful daughter’s freshly tossed-in-the-closet shoes (eeeek!).
On the up side, I can keep unpleasant odors away very easily by breathing through my mouth and not having lingering effects afterward. However on the downside, when one of those hideous smells tricks its way into my nose, I can’t get rid of it for a long period of time. Once I thought my husband was warming up tortillas only to find out smoke from my neighbor’s cigarettes was blowing through the window. I ended up smelling cigarette smoke for days! No kidding. I almost had an anxiety attack when my trusty google medical search told me I probably had a brain tumor.
There are times when I definitely don’t trust what I smell. When the source is dubious, I quickly switch to breathing through my mouth. It may sound weird, but it works just fine for me.
I’ve always had trouble photographing white flowers. I can’t quite capture the details on petals to make their edges stand out. In my pictures, petals just run off into the next petal without distinction. Never the less, I bring you this picture because at the park, on that day, there was not a single white rose unblemished by the heat of the sun. Although the weather here has been brutal, sun kissed flowers displayed their newly acquired accents in a regal manner. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we just embraced our flaws and displayed them as part of who we are? As part of the cumulation of struggles and triumphs that make up our own little kind of wonderful? Today, dare yourself to go out and be wondrous!
There are times when I seriously reconsider the redeeming qualities of my very own lovable pooch. What has your own pet done through the night that leaves you speachless, staring in disblif at the wreckage you see first thing when you wake up?
This morning, I woke on my own, which is unusual since my dog Cinder gets to do the job minutes before the alrm goes off. That should have been the first clue. Even when the alarm began its chiming, there was no dog in sight. That should have been another warning but I was so calmed, rejoicing in this unexpected peacefulness, nothing else crossed my mind. I was even entertaining the idea that finally, Cinder was understanding that I would get to her on MY time, not on hers. And then, beautiful thoughts of endearment rippled through my heart as I thanked her silently for being so considerate.
I sat up on my pillows and immediately noticed Cinder’s tail wagging on the floor next to my bed. Little buzzing sounds of alarm tried to distract me from my revelry and I reached out to pet her in a loving manner. Those little buzzing sounds turned into blaring sirens of doom when I could not get the dog to meet my eyes. And then, when I got up to inspect, I saw the piles and trails of cat litter leading out of my bedroom, into the hallway, livingtoom, kitchen . . . and the bathroom.
Oh, The bathroom!
She did a good job of cleaning the cat litter, all right. But in doing so, she decided to clean her moth all over the place, leaving litter, and chunks of you know what smeared everywhere.
First of all, how does she eat that stuff? Does she swallow a chunk of cat litter and then take it to my room to spit out becuase there was no treat inside? Did she bite into the clump of dried cat pee and then chewed it and walked around the apartment leaving a trail behind her? How on earth did she manage to leave pieces of completely clean cat-poo-flavored lollypops stuck to the carpet as if glued?
And her eyes!
Those cute little adorable eyes hiding from my murderous gaze; those loving and bemoaning eyes which silently begged to be forgiven, they broke me. They broke me good. I don’t remember a time when I was so eager to clean up someone elses mess trying to ingratiate myself with them.
Oh man, she’s got me, she got me good!
First of all, who has never had such a moment in your life when a graceful exit, or an imperious entrance, or merely a silent retreat into a corner has been loudly spoiled by an unintended fart? I would love to hear how it happened to you because I am sharing a vulnerable moment and I need moral support. I could use other words to describe the release of intestinal gases through the southbound end of a northbound individual, but why beat around the bush when you can just say fart?
First of all, I’m telling this story because yesterday, I was making a little video for my Youtube channel and right in the middle of it, my beautiful daughter farted. We were seized by an unending laughing attack and it made the original purpose of the video very anticlimactic. Caillen was laughing so hard, she continued to do little spit farts thereafter. if ever there was a time when the acronym OMG was appropriate, this was it! Not to make her feel bad, I’m going to share with you my own little story.
We were at a friend’s house for a family party. The kids were running around, the adults were all over the place and the football fans were watching the game in the family room which you had to walk across to enter the guest bathroom. As you can imagine, that little bathroom had many guests and trying to get to it became sort of game that resembled musical chairs. The door would open and many of us would start rapidly walking in that direction until the person closest to it reached for the door and left the rest of us just standing there, a little closer every time, but never the less, still standing and waiting as our internal combustion engines begged to be ignited. You try to be inconspicuous, but we all knew very well who our opponents were in this little game.
Finally, I saw my opportunity and rushed towards the open door. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized there was a step down into the family room. In my eagerness to walk across, I neglected to observe my surroundings. There were a number of chairs along the walls where football fans had gathered in addition to all the others sitting on the couch. The room was packed, tension in the air as they held their breath during what must have been an important play. Crossing in front of all these people, I took a fateful step into the family room and I nearly fell. Yes, there was that step I hadn’t see before. The floor went under me and I became painfully aware of all, ALL of the people in that room as a fart escaped out of my nether regions and interrupted their lively TV programming. I can imagine the thoughts that went through their heads, “Do I cheer the winning play that my team just won?, or do I laugh about this lady and her tooting tushy?” I have no idea what happened in the room after I scurried away looking for shelter in the bathroom. Everything I heard through the door was colored by the mortification I felt thinking they could also hear everything I did in the bathroom. I supposed their reaction was a little bit of both, but I do have to say they were all very gracious and didn’t even blink when I had to come back out again.
Do you ever let out your primitive nature and eat with gusto? without ettiquette constrains? I’ll tell you, there is no pretty way to eat some of the most delicious Mexican food that is out there. I’m sure there will be someone who would pull a fork and knife to negotiate a sope or gordita, but really, the best way to enjoy them is to dig in and let your hands get dirty. Literally.
Such was the case, one fateful afternoon when I brought home one left over sope from my favorite Mexican restaurant. In the company of more civilized people, I would have to restrain my gorging habits and eat in a proper manner. And even if I tried to eat with my hands, it’s not proper if I buried my face in the food while allowing juices to drip through my fingers and down into my hands. If the food is good enough, the flavor is appreciated, even within these limitations.
I was looking forward to coming home later in the day and finishing that left over sope from my earlier meal. I wanted to enjoy it in the way they were meant to be eaten, that is, according to what my little voices incessantly whispered in my head. I was going to let my hair down, sort of speak, and bring out the feral child in me as I devoured that sope without any regard whatsoever.
I prepared for that moment searching out the windows and patio door, looking for approaching visitors. When I considered the coast was clear, I deliberately walked over to my table and looked down with great expectation to my victim. Just before I picked it up, I took one last glance in every direction scanning for unwanted eyes and then, voraciously and with great abandonment, I bit into my pray and greedily buried my face in it.
It never fails. Just after the first bite, which I did caveman style and all the juices were spilling out of my hands, my neighbor Debbie steps in through the patio doors. I know who it is right away because I was standing, facing the door which was wide open. She must have just rounded the corner to my place when I looked out the window to her house and she must have been walking along the side wall when I looked out the patio door. Seriously, It never, ever fails.
Thankfully Debbie was a little distracted as she entered and only noticed that I momentarily disappeared when I ran to clean my face.
All things considered, I am grateful that I got that first bite unhindered, just the way I wanted. Never mind that the rest of my sope went to pieces as I threw it back in its plate. Forget that later on, I had to use a spoon and a fork to scoop it out to finish eating it. Oh! And let’s not think about the fact that I didn’t savor that first bite since I had to swallow in a single gulp the pieces that remained in my mouth after I tried to spit it out.
All things considered, I got to feel even if it was for a moment, the abandonment that accompanies what you could call “gusto”, gusto at partaking in a good old eating style that begs to come out every time these Mexican dishes are placed on the table in front of me. For that one time, at least, I got to eat that first bite in just the right way.
Did you know you could eat rose petals? Allow me to share with you the extraordinary adventures I had -in my head- when I discovered a fabulous and rosalicious way of eating them. Although it has been a while since I heard rose petals were consumable, just now I discovered the variety of dishes people have come up with to blend in and to decorate with this amazing ingredient. One of these creations really called my attention, ice-cream. Yes! there is such a thing.
While reading the ingredients, “1/4 cup shredded rose petals“, the first thought into my head was, “Do I have to collect them from my yard or do they sell ‘real’ rose petals at the store?” Of course nothing is more real than fresh grown ingredients from your garden but we’re so used to buying processed foods, I had a little shudder with mental images of bugs crawling around the petals I’m going to eat. Also, I don’t have a rose garden so I would have to stake out a capture and retreive operation at the local park, preferably in the dark. Then again, remembering how popular it is to have canine companions while people walk, questions pop into my head: “Can dogs pee that high?” and threafter, “Would dogs dare to pee on a rose bush?” .. . ouch! but that’s just me. So, again. Do they sell rose petals at the store?
There’s just something akward about asking a friend to see if you could collect rose petals from their garden so you could eat them. Or, wait! you could invite them for a make-your-own-ice-cream-party at your house and “by the way, bring some of those rose petals, we’re going to eat them”. If your friend didn’t come up with a flimsy excuse right away, or decided to oprganize an intevention in your behalf, you would have to share the ice-cream and, with a heavy grimace pasted on my face, I have to ask. Once again. Do they sell rose petals at the store?
I admit, looking around the world for that mythical, magical dessert that apparently exists somewher out there, is much more appealing to me. However, the adventures I’ll have -in my head- exploring the world, searching for such enticing rose almond ice-cream, will be part of another story. Till then, if you do come accross this unicorn, post a picture. Evidence people, evidence!
And here is the recipie if you would like to try. Good luck, let me know how it tasted.
Hard work is more fun when you make a buz about it. Talk about it. Play some music or sing away if you think no one is around. Shake it up a bit and dance it off. Make someone smile or laugh at the world inside your hea (Inside voices can be a lot of fun). Whatever it takes, you may be the onlyone making the effort but at the end of the day, You are the one who will appreciate taking the time to make things better for you.
By bounds and leaps, Cinder the dog, dragged me out in the morning for a walk. It was a beautiful morning, though. Smokey undertones covered the landscape in a eerily beautiful and golden glow. Today, her enthusiasm was tempered by my reluctant compliance (This happens every morning but it sounds more poetic this way, right?). The smoke surrounding the area, gave me pause in addition to my unwillingness because asthma, being what it is, does not tolerate less than perfect air quality. Never the less, I trotted after her, in as much as I could. You can see her in one of these pictures, she’s judging me; probably wondering why I make her stop so often. In another picture, she comes back to tell me, in no uncertain terms, pictures of a morning walk does not, in fact, mean you are walking. She then pulled me to go chasing a rabbit that crossed our paths but I did manage to take a picture of today’s flower.
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