I am awash with tears and emotion. Today the universe spoke to me. And I like what I heard. It spoke of new plans, of new horizons, of stepping stones.
See, I went to a concert held by Sting and Edin Karamazov tonight. And while there, on my own, listening to Sting sing Dowland, the Beatles, Vaughan-Williams and others, and Edin accompany him maginificently on his lute, I heard words that I had not heard before, the coming together of two worlds - the old and the new, the classical and the modern, the contemporary voice and the ancient didgeridoo.
There is another component to this story. I made a friend recently, a friend who I believe can open up new horizons for me, both musically and spiritually. That is, if, as he says, I believe and take the journey that the universe is beckoning I take, one step at a time. I hope I can. I believe I can.
I have a rose in my garden unlike any other. And although it may not seem extraordinary to others to me it is.
Despite the fact that some of its petals are shrivelling, some fallen, its stem is bent and arched over, there are leaves missing, despite all this, I love my rose above all others.
I have had this rose for almost 17 years. I have watched it grow, change with the seasons, wither, die, to be born again, year after year.
I sometimes forget to water it, sometimes to put a glass dome over it at night, sometimes let the sheep graze at it a little. But each time I allow this to happen I do my best to repair the damage, to nurse it back to health.
I have seen many roses in my time, many, many roses, all beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than mine, but I love my rose above all others for it is unique. It is unique because it is I, I, who tamed it. And he who tamed me.
My watch conked out yesterday. The battery went flat. And I've been living a timewarped existence ever since. I'm very attached to my watch. Despite the fact that I have a clock in my kitchen, on my computer and mobile, have a church nearby that chimes the hour, I find comfort in knowing that the exact time is, almost literally, at my fingertips.
I'm a little obsessive with knowing what time it is at any given moment. I like to know when it's time to wake up. When it's time to take my babe for a walk. When it's time to prepare lunch. When it's time for my son to come home from school. When it's time to pick up my daughter from kindie. When it's time to go out. When it's time to go to bed. And without my watch, I have been a little lost.
Funny thing time is. Constantly moving forward, relentlessly, at breakneck speed. The minutes, hours, days, months and years, going, going, then gone. Jeremy Irons said “We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.” I've been thinking quite intensely about both lately, but perhaps a bit more about the former. Just like my friend Ross, I have been thinking about two years in the past in particular - 1988 and 1989.
1988 was a significant year for me as it was my last year of school. And in the words of Dickens, it was the best of times and the worst of times. The best of times because I made some wonderful, lifelong friends and had some magical moments with them which I shall cherish all my life. It was also a kind of age of innocence - a worryfree existence with almost no responsibilities whatsoever, except for school. Which is why it was the worst of times. Because, as anyone who has completed school knows, your last year is your best, and worst - the unrelenting pressure and stress to get the best grades you can, finally finding out what you got for all your drudgery and then deciding what the hell you're going to do with the rest of your life. Not a pleasant experience. Oh yeah, that and unrequited love.
But 1989, now that was a very good year. If pressed, I would have to say my best so far. My first year at university. After having gone to Catholic schools all my life, the last 8 years of which were all-girls Catholic schools, I was now amidst Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Vegan, Leftwing, Rightwing, Chickenwing people, as well as others of innumerable persuasions, cultures and beliefs. I was, in short, finally in the real world after having been confined in the parish closures for so long. It was, in effect, the year my voice broke, when the girl in me started turning into a woman. My eyes began opening wide, the parachute in my head that was wrapped up so long started to unravel, my ears began to hear sounds unheard before and my heart seemed to pump harder and faster than ever. And again, I met some amazing people, some of whom have remained my dearest friends.
And then I started thinking - what happened in the world during those two years? What other significant events occured outside my microcosmos? Here's a list that I found on Wiki:
The bicentenary of the settlement of Australia Demonstrations in the then Czechoslovakia, Estonia, Hungary and other Eastern European countries begin Poland legalises "Solidarity" and they win their first elections in Poland after 42 years of communism Nato celebrates its 40th anniversary Students protest in Tianamen Square The Berlin Wall falls down The Velvet Revolution takes place in the then Czeckoslovakia Laurence Olivier, Diana Vreeland, Irving Berlin, Bette Davis, Samuel Beckett and Enzo Ferrari pass away Seinfeld premieres on TV :)
Interesting that the dark walls of communism were falling in Eastern Europe the same year that the dark walls of my former life were falling around me, crumbling at my feet, leaving me with a beautiful vista, a vista of what life really was and what it could be. I saw the lark ascending. How I sometimes wish that time could stop its neverending grind and stand still for just a moment, so that I could watch it soar and sing again.
That's what the posters and billboards for one of the latest Croatian theatrical productions claim. And every time I see that phrase, it sort of captures my mind's eye and imagination. And I have to say, I agree with it. We don't have to be where we are at any particular moment - we can travel if we let our mind and heart take us places.
Every time I want to exit the place I'm at at the moment, I put some music on. Nothing can trasport me like music. If I feel like going to Austria, I simply put Mozart or Schubert on and I can visualise the ever snow-capped Alps, the winding streets of Vienna's "ring" and "gurtel", the gurgling Danube and Mur Rivers. If I feel like going to Italy, I put on Vivaldi or Paganini and I can see Venice's Canale Grande or Piaza San Marco, the Duomo in Florence, the Fontana di Trevi in Rome. If I feel like going to Spain, I listen to Paco de Lucia and am in the centre of Madrid at 11pm amid a teeming crowd of people the likes of I have never seen.
But at the moment, it seems that both my friend Davor and I are in a "we want to go to France and we want to go now" kind of mood. But then again, when aren't we??? Dreaming of coffee at La Cigale, sitting on a rock at Pointe du Rez, watching the waves at Quiberon, walking through the streets of Dinan, driving from Nantes to Paris listening to Radio Nostalgie, walking through the Luxemburg Gardens. These thoughts constantly go through our minds.
So while on my way to French today, to transport myself to France, at least a bit, I listened to the soundtrack of "Moulin Rouge". And it was bizaare how many of the songs, to me, captured a different aspect of our trip. So I thought I'd share a few of the tracks and the thoughts they provoke in me with you.
Nature Boy Now, for some strange reason, this song reminds me of Pointe du Rez and Quiberon. I guess the title of the song provokes thoughts of nature in me. I also love the lyrics of the song. I can't be sure, but I get the feeling that Bowie based them on The Little Prince. Will have to look and see about that:
There was a boy A very strange enchanted boy They say he wandered very far, very far Over land and sea A little shy and sad of eye But very wise was he
And then one day A magic day he passed my way And while we spoke of many things Fools and kings This he said to me "The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love and be loved in return"
I particularly love the last phrase: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return". I think that's all that the Almighty One, Mother Nature, expects of us - to love her and her love us in return. And I can tell ya, I sure love her Quiberon and Pointe du Rez.
Because we can This song definitely reminds me of Davor and I entering Paris after having driven from the tranquil and charming Nantes and Chenonceau. It was quite a shock to our systems: the concrete, asphalt, smog, greyness of the city. That, and the complete and utter madness of it all, where the traffic was chock-a-block and we were in a race to get the rent-a-car back on time. So the rhythm and mayhem of this song take me back to that rather low point of our trip.
Sparkling Diamonds This song conjures up memories of La Cigale - the glitziest, most glamorous cafe I've ever visited and probably ever will visit. This is the kind of place that in its heyday, being across the road to the opera, I imagine girls would get up on tables and start belting out arias, while men would drink champagne out of their shoes. And here were little ol' me and Davor, in this venerated place, having breakfast. I still can't believe it, simply incroyable...
One day I'll fly away When I close my eyes and listen to this song, I see myself at the top of the Montparnasse Tower. Now, the Montparnasse Tower is one of the ugliest manmade monstrosities I have ever set eyes on. But the view from the top looking over all of Paris - the myriad of lights, the Eiffel Tower sparkling on the hour, the bateaux mouches slowly making their way over the Seine - was, in a word, breathtaking, something I'll never forget. And although this is a bit morbid, but if I were (God forbid!) ever to consider ending it all, I'd have to say that freefalling from the top through the city of lights would be the way to go.
Complainte de la Butte Although we didn't fit it into our visit, this song brings Montmartre to mind, or should I say, old bohemian Montmartre - with its accordian playing street performers, its narrow, winding streets, where you can feel the melancholy of some of its former residents, like Satie, Edith Piaf, Van Gogh. I'm kinda glad we didn't go there, it's lost a lot of its old spirit and instead of being the centre of bohemia is now a shrine to tourist shops.
I'll leave you with my favourite song from the soundtrack, Nature Boy. Here's hoping Davor and I can listen to it in Pointe du Rez or some other nice place in France sometime soon...
It's curious how you can learn some very important and very poignant life lessons in the most unexpected circumstances and from the most unexpected people. I'm the fist to admit that I love "the greats" - the great writers, painters, musicians, and all the rest of them, and have learnt many valuable lessons from them. But to be honest, I have learnt the most from the "little people" - from a curly, blond haired boy who lives on Asteroid B-612, from a sea gull whose only goal in life was to fly as perfectly as possible, from a little baby born in a manger, from a 6 year-old girl who also happens to be my daughter.
The latest lesson that I learnt from my daughter took place last Sunday. She and I were on the internet after having been as sick as two dogs with the flu for the past week. We hadn't been on the internet all week so it was nice to muck around on Facebook, feed our pet dog (we have a Facebook cavalier king charles spaniel called Noni although I would like to buy myself a real dog for my birthday. But not a word to anyone, especially not to hubby!), look at some photos of friends and family. We then came across a photo of my friend's brother from one of his albums, at the wheel of a fast and furious car with this caption: There are two things my brother doesn't let go out of his hands - cars and a mobile phone. Add a camera and pretty girls (http://flickr.com/photos/strasnonesto/sets/72157600023799683) and you've got the whole picture ;-).
Being the curious George I am, I had to have a look at the photos, see what all the fuss was about. Well, seems that friend's bro is a photographer, and what a photographer. He has every man's dream job - taking photos of fast cars and beautiful women. It was while we were looking at the pretty girls from the above link that my daughter's wisdom hit me like a veritable brick and the following conversation took place between us:
(Turning around to hubby): "Look hubby, seems my friend's brother has your dream job, taking photos of pretty girls and fast cars - ya jealous?" "Why should tata be jealous?" "Ah, 'cause this guy takes photos of beautiful girls all day while tata has to write on the computer day and night" "Why aren't you there, mama?" "Why aren't I there? Ha, ha, 'cause I'm not beautiful, that's why" "Yes you are" "Maybe to you, but I'm not as beautiful as them! I mean look at me - I look as though I've been run over by a semi-trailer! No, I'm not beautiful, definitely!" "Yes you are, you're more beautiful than them. You should be there, not them. Your friend should take photos of you"
I just laughed after that and we looked at some other stuff on the internet that she likes, like The Wiggles and whatnot.
But the thought wouldn't go away - I more beautiful than they? No way! But the more I thought about it, the more I realised what she had meant. She didn't mean that I was physically more beautiful, rather, more importantly, I was beautiful in ways unseen to the average human eye, in ways that only she could see. I asked myself, would one of those girls tuck her in at night when she had untucked herself? Would one of them let her sleep in her bed when she's just had a bad dream? Would one of them read her a story? Me thinks not.
And that's the thing - no matter how much physical beauty one has or has not, it's what's invisible that counts, those things the average person's eyes can't see - like a kind word or gesture. What a lesson to be taught by a six year old girl. She shows great promise...
Here are some beauty tips from one of the most beautiful women, both within and without, that ever lived:
I have a confession to make. Don't worry, nothing too shocking or dramatic, at least I don't think it is. And it's within the bounds of normalcy and morality, as far as I know. But then again, it's not something that I mention over tea and biscuits when I have someone over. See, I love sleeping au naturel. I don't do it too often mind you, especially not when the kids are home. Don't want to traumatise them and have them running off to their shrinks later in life saying "I saw my mum's buck naked behind every morning!" So I only do it every so often, when they're at granny's place, and I just love the feeling of having nothing between me and the sheets. I'd say it's an almost unbearable lightness of being - just the air and me.
Another thing I love is riding my bike or taking a walk in summer and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, especially when I'm wearing a tank or sleeveless top. Feeling the sun's hot rays and the waves of warmth in the air on my flesh is yet another feeling that can be described as an almost unbearable lightness of being. I sometimes stop right in the middle of the street and just "sunbathe" - not to get a suntan, God forbid, but to enjoy the natural heat on my skin.
Having said all that, I do like cover up, especially in winter when my thighs start looking like thunder more than ever and my derriere sets new heights of rotundness. I'm then more than grateful for my slightly elasticated Levi's bootcut jeans which seem to "hold" these problems "in" somewhat. And I wouldn't consider going topless or nude on a beach or anywhere else public. Maybe if I had the body of a supermodel, the thought might cross my mind. But as I will never have that kind of body, walking round the beach in my birthday suit is out of the question for lil' ol' me. That, and the Catholic school girl in me who sometimes just refuses to go away.
'Cause sometimes it's good to cover up, imperfections in particular. The cosmetic industry would be out of business if it weren't. The best covers are, in my opinion, the ones provided by Mother Nature. The grass, flowers, plants and trees that cover the sand and soil under our feet. The seas, lakes, streams and rivers that cover the rocky and sandy beds. But snow, that's a wonderful blanket that conceals every single imperfection imaginable. Mother Nature has no imperfections mind you, but I can tell ya, Zagreb, and more specifically, Culinec, the suburb I live in, has. It's not the cleanest and tidiest suburb I've seen, far from it. So when the snow falls, I almost forget that I live in this grubby place and am bedazzled by the brilliant white cleanliness surrounding me. Even dead grass and twigs look brilliant with a tinge of white on them, and a bit of frost can uplift a bare tree or unkept rose bush to new heights.
But unfortunately, as with everything, good things don't last forever. Once the snow melts, all the imperfections are revealed and Culinec yet again turns into a muddy, mushy, slushy hole. Until then, while it's covered up, it's nice to believe that I live in a Winter Wonderland rather than Hell's Kitchen.
All photos were taken in my front yard and around Culinec, Zagreb.
There are a few books on my bookshelf that I like to dust off every so often and re-read for the God knows which time. First on that list is, of course, "The Little Prince". It was the first book I read to all my kiddies, lying in their cots, on their way to the land of Winken, Blinken and Nod. Couldn't understand a word of it at that stage of course, or anything for that matter, but I believe that they understood the sentiment behind it.
Then there are my various books of poetry, some poems of which I have re-read so many times that I know them off by heart. Like "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways" or "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone" or "Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine".
Then there's a book called "Les Bons Mots", a hilarious book of French phrases which I like to read and have a good laugh at. Phrases like "grandes maisons se font par petite cuisine" which means "save your pennies, the pounds will take care of themselves" but literally means "great houses are made by a small kitchen". Or "ce n'est pas de la tarte" meaning "it's no easy matter" but literally means "it's not a tart", as in pastry, not the other kind of tart. Only the French compare almost everything to the kitchen, don't they? Guess that's why I love 'em so much!
In any case, I wanted to share a few snippets from the book that I particularly like. Hope you like them too:
We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!
Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect.
To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived ...
If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?
Each of us is in truth an idea of the Great Gull, an unlimited idea of freedom.
"Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way. It is the Law of the Great Gull, the Law that Is." "Are you saying I can fly?" "I say you are free."
You don't love hatred and evil, of course. You have to practice and see the real gull, the good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves. That's what I mean by love.
You've got to understand that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the Great Gull, and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is nothing more than your thought itself.
