Sunday, March 26, 2017

Lost in my little world - a diary

03/22/17

The frogs who live in the pond have arrived—big, green, and true magicians in the art of camouflage.  The Fisherman spotted one of the happy dwellers, and took me to the pond so I could see her, but I had the hardest time finding her.  These wood frogs are extremely cryptic when they hide from predators in the vegetation surrounding the pond. I finally had to move to another location before I could find her.  How happy that my little friends are finally returning to my world, and how gracious of them to make the space we occupy their own, as humans and creatures share this lovely world and walk our own holy land.

The fishes, too, have started to be more active, and six little goldfish were seen happily swimming this morning.  Happier felt us upon finding they were alive and doing well!    





It was very stormy last night... we were staying at the lake house, and from our bedroom we could hear the rain falling in torrents and the frenzy of winds lashing on trees and whipping the barren floors of the lake, which it has been drained for some repairs.  Up the woodsy mountains above the lake, clouds scudded frantically across the sky. Every few moments the moon ripped through them, creating wraithlike shadows that raced along the bleak panorama.   It was frightening, and wonderful and I went to sleep without a care in the world...


I love the sounds of Nature, and every night I am lulled to sleep by the artificial sound of rain coming from one of my Apps.  Not only I use these sounds to cover-up unwanted sounds, such as the acute snoring of a certain Fisherman, but also as a sleep aid.  There are so many wonderful, magical sounds you can chose from, and I have tried many, like the songs of whales, or the gentle slapping of waves on some remote shores, or the night songs of owls, but for some reason, I always stick to rain.  It somehow soothes me like no other sound.  When I'm in bed ready to go to sleep, I like to imagine that our little house is somewhere deep in some unknown forest, and from our bed I could hear the calls and sounds of wild animals nearby... coyotes and wolves and antelopes under the sound of a dark, soft night rain.       



3/23/17

Today, the UPS truck left a package on our front door that was meant for our neighbors across the hill.  It was a God-induced miscalculation I should say, because it gave me the wonderful opportunity to inquire about my friend, 'the gnome who lives across the hill'.  You see, all throughout the winter I had this strange feelings that something wasn't right with him, and I have missed our morning encounters across the little white cottage up the hill, and I have missed seeing him every morning quietly sipping his coffee on his favorite balance on the front porch. 


And indeed, he hasn't been well, and he showed me the huge scar which crosses the middle of his protruded abdomen from a recent surgery.  He has stopped smoking, which is a very good thing, and he has lost weight, which is also good.  But I could tell he's still feeling feeble.  After we talked for a bit, I offered a prayer and promised to keep him in my thoughts and prayers.  And I have.  And I should go visit again soon.  I know all too well what loneliness feels like, and know how it tugs on your gown hem, whispering nasty words, until it grabs you by your very soul, living you exhausted and depressed.  And I can tell he feels lonely.  I should do something to ease this, although there's not much I can do either.  But at least I do can pray...  



I'm desperately trying to understand this 'new' old body that menopause is throwing down on me. Shall I ever accept it, or at least try to make peace with it?  Pains, discomforts and ailments which have never before affected me are now my everyday cup of tea.  What I do accept with open arms, however, is the soul's changes and quiet inner beauty which also come with age.


“Odder still  how possessed I am with the feeling that now, aged 50, I’m just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are. Therefore all this flitter flutter of weekly newspapers interests me not at all. These are the soul’s changes. I don’t believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one’s aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism. And to alter now, cleanly and sanely, I want to shuffle off this loose living randomness: people; reviews; fame; all the glittering scales; and be withdrawn, and concentrated.”  -Virginia Woolf - from her diary, October 1932


Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Dear Diary...

3-20-17

I had never experienced such a disappointment as far as weather goes since we moved to the south.  And as it is, the month of March has been such a treacherous, difficult thing to bear this year.  In the outside and inside of me, things have been equally bleak and as ridiculously erratic as March has been. 

A strong, healthy sun brought me out this afternoon, and for the first time in weeks I was able to sit outside and enjoy a cup of cinnamon latte while watching the birds in their comings and goings, and marvel, and listen to the uncanny baby-like cry of squirrels in the woods.  


Look at those eyes and pose... a witch of a bird for sure!







I tried to pray too, as I used to, but found myself faulty and emptied, standing on the arid landscape from which God had disappeared.

"Jesus has a very special love for you, but as for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see,--Listen and do not hear--the tongue moves in prayer, but does not speak ... I want you to pray for me--that I let Him have a free hand."  Mother Teresa 





Things are growing slowly, but they are, and I already can see green, young crowns sprouting from the ground like some holy beings in the transition of resurrection. 

The kois and goldfishes are nowhere to be seen and I guess they are waiting for the water to warm up, and the land to paint itself in lively greens, but the pond is looking awesome in its dark bottoms and water that maintain its fullness, and never decreases.  I love it.









This afternoon while I was out in the garden, I saw a woman and her daughter going by our little white cottage and suddenly my heart was alight with joy... for I instantly knew who they were...  Jane, and her young  daughter... an older, overweight version of the woman I remembered from four years ago, but nonetheless Jane.  And I was happy to see she was well, and sad too that I couldn't approach and say hi, because by the time I had reached the hill they were already going down and too soon disappeared from my vision, leaving me only with the hope of seeing then again this year. 

The garden is already looking so much prettier now, even when there's practically nothing blooming there yet. The other day I throw away all those plants that got damaged by frost and cold temperatures, and for the first time I'm not dwelling on what is gone.  I has set my mind on new flowering pots embellishing our little patio in the back and front porch and this brings a lot of joy.  I'm determine to freed my spirit of unnecessary worry and accept things I cannot change.  It is not resignation—it's an act of faith, and liberation.    




 Thank you for being here with me!  



Monday, March 20, 2017

Pondering...

Sometime ago I found this precious old-old-old photograph on the Internet of two unidentified women in a garden wearing lovely long dresses and lovely shawls.  Who were they—I would never found out, but their poses and lovely attires of a gone-by era have truly and deeply enchanted me ever since.  


Sometimes I make myself believe I'm from another era... and I live in Spain somewhere in the 1800's, when every woman wore her mantón (shawl) even to go work on the fields. 

Back on the days in Spain, the embroidered shawl became a token habitual of the female dress, above all in Seville, so much among the wealthy women of the high company as among the popular classes.

Sometimes I look at this painting, "A plena vida" (in full life), artwork by  José Pinazo Martínez, an artist born in 1879, and want to believe I'm one among those in the painting. I love to submerge myself into old paintings and photograph and make my own little stories.  It is fascinating.  

I can certainly find myself there with my usual gaze vacantly into space... ;)


The woman standing on the back are softly gossiping among themselves as they stare at this particular woman.  I wonder what kind of a person she must had been... a man-snaring temptresses?  Not necessarily a complicated woman either, or beautiful.  Perhaps someone who didn't measured up to her time's version of ladylike-ness?  She seems uninterested in whatever is going on around her.  Even bored.  But that same 'indifferent' or 'aloofness' in her is what speak to me and tell of the veiled freedom of her soul...  the free-spirited is always herself regardless of the situation she finds herself in.  She's not restricted by other people's opinions.  And perhaps that's what makes her so special?  Whoever she was, or whatever her life might have been, I'm convinced she was just that type of women other women will always be jealous of.  

And here I will have to put a word in favor of those 'other' ladies on the back, who presumably forgot that they were spending their time envying a woman who most probably was spending her time envying someone else because no woman truly has everything.  

We tend to forget that the woman whose life we are longing for is just another woman who is longing for something else... we assume other women have better lives because they have that one thing we want. They have the thing we'd give our soul for, trade for without a second thought. They have a better everything, so they must be happier.  And this is so untrue.

We all have our own flaws. And while others may have something we would like to have, we also have something that someone else would kill for.  So alas, let us just be us... and love the world we live in without complications! 


The temperatures around here are still cold, although the sun has come out today.  I'm wishing for sunshine and the ceased of cold winds.  I'm wishing for blue skies and blue birds and better, happier days.  And I wish you could come by and sit with me for a minute or two...



Wednesday, March 15, 2017

On days like these...

Old Winter has a mind of his own, and his mind had been hardened by centuries of moving to face different directions and turning the weather most poignantly... and he'd decided on an impromptu long visit to the South.... just to irritate us. 


And thus, this is the first year since we've been living here in the 'south' (if you can call it south) when ices, high winds and very cold weather have been our daily bread for the past two weeks in the mid of March, when the old redbud trees and callery pears should be gracing the land with lovely blooms already...  As it is, all my beautiful houseplants, including my beloved bougainvillea and the geraniums have been irremediably damaged by frost and ices.  I am very disenchanted and so much more.  So I am channeling the lovely spirit of Ann of Green Gables who lives somewhere amidst the brambles of my old soul in an effort to find some positivism...  Only problem is, I cannot find her, and lately it seems that I'm walking backwards and for more that I try to find the light, I keep losing vision and can only wrap my old soul in shadows... it's OK, I'm used to this.  It's what I am.  So I will say no more.





Into the cold earth of this wood on which the sun seldom shines I'm putting my brightest hopes... dreaming with all those clusters of gems beyond beauty on bouquets of white flowers of the privet trees, the songs of the birds, which on warm days are seen there in abundance and you can hear their songs and animal calls coming from unknown places within there, making you believe that you have been transported to some sorts of magical jungle where Nature's peace flows into you as sunshine flows into trees.


Keep close to Nature, heart... and break clear away.





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