Simply Being

What defines a person? Does work, title, address, spouse and money define a person? By deduction the person is reduced to the work, title, address, spouse and ultimately money they own. All things extrinsic measure by quantity and by having more.

What defines a person? Stand in front of the mirror and ask yourself with complete honesty. Are you all that you want to live up to be, kind, caring, loving, considerate, truthful, respectful? Everything intrinsic measures by quality and by reaching higher.

What defines you?

One Night

Flowers by Pastel b.

Leaning out the window one night I found a solitary star in the hazy sky. As I gaze upon it I was suddenly embraced with a warmth exclusive to fond memories. The lone star began its metamorphosis, star after star appeared until a celestial canopy canvassed the entire sky, evoking a distant place in my sea of memories, Cape Cod.

Memory can be moulded and sculpted; holding on to every detail is a burden. At some blessed point I decide to tread lighter. Some memories are special and will always be cherished but mere static should be jettisoned. As laps of waves take them further and further out, I feel cleansed with a clearer mind. What's left is a sense of benevolence and truly wonderful memories.

Be selective, choose to keep what and who's worth remembering, discard the flotsam.

Spring Cleaning

I used to love living in my apartment, in this neighborhood. Despite the rent hike back in March when the lease was renewed, I thought it was worth every dime. The neighborhood was like an extended family (or so I thought) until I started shrinking away from my usual haunts. I felt being watched, stalked to be more precise. It sounded a bit crazy but when you had to close the curtains in the bedroom for fear of someone telling you"Saw your cat on the window ledge but your curtains were drawn so I guess you're still sleeping." It literally made my skin crawl.

Then came the incident when the security guard let a whole bunch of people in and made a circus outside my door. Not only the management and the security guard did not apologize, they made some lame excuse to say they were worried about me. Huh? We weren't even on speaking terms. Give me a break.

To some people I might be making a big deal out of this incident but as a person who prized privacy, I felt violated. What happened the following months didn't start out as a plan, it just took its natural course. It finally brought on what I now knew was what I wanted subconsciously - move. After some legal proceedings I would vacate the premise.

I felt unperturbed and I deduced this zen calmness had to do with the mental spring cleaning over the past months and it had given me a much needed perspective on the bigger picture. It also pulled me back from the abyss of churning thoughts and emotions. I didn't know how resentful I had become and lurking under these misdirected thoughts and unresolved feelings, I was paralyzed with inaction.

As a friend had put it, perhaps it's a nudge from the universe to step out of my comfort zone and rethink where I wanted to live, where as in country, too. The world had suddenly become wider and full of possibilities.

Never Let Me Go

Finally finished reading "Never Let Me Go" by Kazuo Ishiguro. It's one of those books I've never quite got to the end on the first read, languishing on the bookshelf for years after. Miraculously it hasn't made its way to the heap I donated to the library.

"Never Let Me Go" is undoubtedly the most disconcerting book I have ever read. I can't remember when a book has moved me so and made my heart bleed. I know it will haunt me for a long time to come.

The story seems innocent enough at the beginning with the children growing up at Hailsham, a school set in the English country side. With the classes, art and guardians it gives you an impression the children are indeed "special" and privileged to be studying there.

Ishiguro takes us through their childhood with the characters wondering about their future and as you get to the end the muted hints dropped here and there hit you full force. Their future has been destined, they'd grow up to be carers, donors and complete.

Most disquieting of all is you are as "sheltered" from the truth as the characters. Through sheer brillance, Ishiguro has made each of them endearing in their own ways. When the reality of why or what they are here for dawns on you (and them), you want to cry out for them. It has been made into a motion picture with Kiera Knightley, just watching the trailer makes my heart break.

It is a morality tale and Ishiguro has written it so hauntingly beautiful you never, never want to let the characters go the way they are meant to. One line will always stay with me. "We always wonder if you have souls at all," says a guardian and that's alluded to the special children at Hailsham.

Boundary

Spiky Chrysanthemums

The tutoring sessions have earned a much welcomed respite with the arrival of summer. I have serious doubts about doing it again but should there be a change of mind, I'd need to set some strict criteria first. One thing for sure is I don't want my home to be "the" classroom. I simply can't take people poking at my things and asking me questions about my lifestyle.

Next is a polite way to convey to this ex-student to stop reporting his "findings" about my pad, my kids and me to the cafe people. I feel exposed for want of a better word. I have stopped going there for months (although Porky still pulls me towards that direction on our walks). After all, before it becomes such a gossipy place we are there almost every day.

What transpired one particular Sunday night had me so pissed off I decided to end this tutoring business for good. Friday night I received a call from this ex-student, said he needed help with his homework to be handed in on Monday. I told him to confirm on Saturday. He didn't. Naturally, I wasn't expecting him. Best of all he would not be disturbing Porky.

It's been a week since Porky caught kennel cough at the groomer's which had turned nasty into early bronchitis. It was a dry cough and he had been hacking. I had been feeding him bread because his throat was raw from all the coughing. I was planning to have a quiet night tending my pig when an acquaintance called to say they were at a neighborhood restaurant. I didn't want to leave Porky alone so I declined.

I had Porky on the sofa, patting his back to coax him to sleep when a sudden emergency had me rushing out. When I was in the taxi I realized I had forgotten my phone which was charging in the kitchen. I didn't make much of it at the time.

Imagine my horror to discover during the approximate two hours I was out, this ex-student had been banging and ringing my doorbell. He had convinced the security guard I had fainted in my apartment because he claimed to have a SOLID appointment with me. Plus, he could hear my phone ringing inside the house.

What came after was more incredulous, he brought in the nosy waitress from the cafe and both proceeded to wreck havoc to my door. Convinced I was near death, the waitress rallied the acquaintances at the restaurant to the rescue as well. Unbelievable but there it was, a congregation of people outside my pad yelling my name, banging the door and ringing the doorbell. (Everything was recorded by the security camera mounted on the wall opposite my pad.)

The episode finally ended when I phoned the ex-student to see if he had finished his homework. The phone was passed along with questions like, "Don't play, open the door.", "We are all outside your door, open up.", "We can hear your phone ringing.", "You sure you are not home?". Of course I am sure. Retards.

When I came back the first thing I asked the stupid guard was, "Has my son been barking all this time?" He said, "Yes." This one word was all it took to unleash my fury on all those involved in this fiasco. I told him my son had been coughing raw and you guys made him bark for two hours? Porky lost his voice afterwards.

I have no idea there are so many drama kings and queens who love none other than a good drama. I have deleted the main culprits and hid the others on facebook. I have vehemently complained to the management and the security company. The guard has obviously neglected his duties and happily participated to see the drama unfold. Never in all my years have I felt my boundaries so violated at my doorstep, literally.

After I posted the status, friends NOT acquaintances made comments such as," You are not home.", "It's time to cut the retards out of your life." The most ridiculous thing was, except for the ex-student, the guard had greeted me when I came back with my take outs, the acquaintance had spoken to me on the phone and one from the group had even come up to take a package. It's not like I was MIA.

I bought some chrysanthemums the other day and was curious about the name. Staring at the screen, I have to shake my head and appreciate the sense of humor life plays on us. They are called spiky chrysanthemums. What a coincidence, this is exactly how I feel after the incident, spiky!

HKDR at Harvey Nichol's

I made the deadline!! (clap, clap)

The deadline had been crazy this year, condensed from one month (the usual case) to two weeks. The mad dash was so stressful a full range of allergies had developed, nasal, skin and most irritating of all, itchy eyes. It got so bad I had to see a doctor for prescription medicine. The nurse warned me the pills would make me super drowsy. Still, I did not expect ten hours would evaporate after the first dose. I panicked, my deadline!!

I finally gave the liaison lady a call. She knew the drafts had been late in coming and the original deadline looked hopelessly ridiculous now, but therein lie the dilemma, the finalized drafts had a deadline at the printers, too. Long story short I received a much appreciated two-day extension.

I had been wanting to attend a charity function held by Hong Kong Dog Rescue at Harvey Nichol's on October 14th, the day before my deadline. I had completely dismissed any possibility of going, but with this miraculous grace period I could finally go!! Talk about mind over body, it had been only a day into my allergy medicine but I felt the symptoms had alleviated a bit.

These are the adorable puppy totes I have bought at the event and every dollar goes to the charity.

Tis the Season

Annual report season has arrived, meaning I will be holed up for weeks translating page after page of essentially the same thing. After twenty odd pages it becomes tedious, tedious and more tedious. Can't complain since every little word counts.

What brightens the project is working with a really nice liaison lady. She is polite, understanding and professional and we have bonded well after three years of partnership. Even better, she has a great sense of humor. In our mad race towards the deadline over the years, we have perfected little jokes to lessen the stress. Last minute amendments are met with long sighs on both ends. How come first drafts are perennially late in coming?

Since my little mishap with the azaleas, forgetting to water them, I am searching for another flowering plant to place amongst the paraphernalia I love having on my writing desk. Scented candle being one of the must haves. Hopefully, the blissful ambiance can buffer the craziness surrounding the deadline. I am ready!

Autumn Harvest

The season of plentiful has arrived. These prunes are freshly harvested from my dad's farm. Sweet and juicy the prunes are delicious. They make mouth-watering pies, too. I have a craving for a warm slice served with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Heavenly.

Hyacinths

Hyacinths make beautiful bouquets and in this case a romantic posy. The dense cluster of florets makes an impressive presence and a minimal arrangement is all these bursting stars needed.

Hyacinths are also known for their fragrance. Too bad I cannot be in close proximity with these lovely flowers as I would start sneezing and working with them at length makes my head pound. I have asked some experienced florists if it happens to them and they almost unanimously say yes.

Fragrant flowers such as hyacinths are mostly placed at the shop front and milder ones near their work station. The practicality of the placement has an added advantage, lulling passerby to stop and browse as the fragrance greets their senses miles away.

Brilliant idea.

The Swan Thieves

Kostova's debut bestseller, "The Historian", is one of my favorite reads. The anticipated release of her second book has me glued to B&N's online store for months. Sadly, "The Swan Thieves" is a huge disappointment. It has taken me three weeks to finish the book. That's telling because I can devour a paperback in days.

The plot revolves around an acclaimed artist Robert Oliver attacking a painting, Leda and the Swan by Gilbert Thomas at the National Gallery of Art in D.C. He is arrested and taken under the psychiatric care of Andrew Marlow. Thus begin Dr. Marlow's investigation into the past of Robert Oliver and the motive behind the attack.

A famous painting, a mad artist, a bundle of fragile old letters, plus globe trotting to Impressionist museums, unravelling of clues and piecing of puzzles spanning a century, the book has the making to be an enthralling read.

For some unfathomable reason Kostova has chosen to write the book with each character delivering a monologue breaking as a chapter. With minimal dialogue in some chapters, the narration has completely failed to engage me and worst of all ruined the tempo of the book.

I think great reads have the ability to entice the reader to identify and empathize with the characters. The feeling of having participated in the story makes the book a lingering and memorable read. A pity this is not one of them.

Bonjour

Ranunculus Blossoms

This is going to be a really short post. Simply want to remind myself I do have one of those rare days waking up refreshed and actually feeling happy.

Azalea

This pot of azalea is my first flowering plant. I have always been partial to cut flowers as opposed to potted ones for their convenience. The blossom in this little pot has lasted two full months. As the flowers begin to wilt I start reading up on the care of azaleas. After the first flowering it's recommended to plant the azalea outdoors for the next season. Since I don't have a garden it will have to stay in its pot.

The leaves have grown wild and unruly in the meantime. I am real skeptical about it blooming again but on the off chance that it would, I have kept up with the trimming to keep its original dome shape. It almost has a sorry end in the trash can one day because it is so dry and brittle. I have completely forgotten to water it.

I think this pot is a late bloomer. Spring has come and gone and it's the height of summer. Nonetheless it's a thrill to be counting the new buds. As a debutant there is still much to learn about plants. I am looking forward to the wide circle of buds yet to bloom and happily thinking about choosing my second flowering plant.

Calendar

I can't believe it's August already. Looking back on the last eight months, what have I accomplished? Sadly, not much. Work wise I have managed to get some articles published on a tourism website and a thesis on Shakespeare accepted to an academic website. I have also read a dozen books but do they count? It's pathetic.

Embarrassing to admit I have simply wasted too much time on distracting pastimes. Now that almost three quarters of 2010 has passed, it's time to change gears, say "no" to time killers and really get something done. I must regain my footing, find my balance and set sail again. To remind myself of the preciousness of each day, I have changed my desktop wallpaper to a calendar.

I am an avid follower of Design Sponge. D's has announced late last year there will be a new desktop calendar for each month in 2010. The current August calendar is by far my favorite. I love the colors, the pinks, purples, greys and blues blending seamlessly together. I also love the handwritten calendar, visible yet not loud enough to disturb the whole design. The grand sweep of white feathers is successful in brightening the composition with flamboyance and airiness.

Speaking of flamboyance and immediacy I am reminded of a quote by William James to which I have to adhere from this day on.

To change your life:
Start immediately;
Do it flamboyantly; no exceptions.

Scented Candle

Aveda Shampure Candle

I am blessed with windows spanning an entire wall with rows of magnificent trees in view. I love the optical illusion of working amongst the greens in the comfort of my home. For want of a porch or veranda I think it is pretty cool.

It has been raining the last two days, an overdue respite from a stretch of stifling hot weather. The unending drizzle and occasional downpour have mesmerized Dayee and Camille, watching and listening to the rain for hours on end.

As opposed to the full glare on sunny days, the light on rainy days are muted, softer, paler. The dimmed sky ushering evenings in earlier. I love evenings, a time when everything settles after an eventful day. Evening is my cue to pick a candle from the book shelf, trim the wick and watch it flicker.

In my search for a scented candle that is not too heady nor masked with no scent at all I have bought quite too many. I have finally embarked on my perfect candle, a soy wax candle by Aveda known as Shampure. Made with plant essences such as organic lavendar, ylang ylang and petitgrain, the scent is as the name suggests, pure, soothing and calming. It simply smells clean.

The scent has slowly wafted the whole room, breathing a sense of well being. Watching from my writing desk, the trees, the rain, the warm glow of the candle and Dayee nodding asleep against the window pane is a picture of peace and stillness.

10 Promises to My Dog

10 Promises to My Dog is a Japanese movie made a few years back. I want to see it but I don't to at the same time because I know I will cry my eyes out. I have also decided not to watch it at the cinema because I don't want to annoy other moviegoers by my bawling. After finally mustering enough courage I set out to rent the dvd. By the time the ending credits roll, my floor is littered with tissue.

I have the trailer of the movie in my youtube play list and when I get real pissed with the kids, I will replay it. It never fails to move me to tears and I will pick Porky up and hug him tight. The promises give me a perspective otherwise forgotten in the minutiae of everyday life.

I walk in on a real moving scene yesterday at my vet's. I am there to get stuff for Ashley and Camille. I expect the clinic will be full as usual but all I see is the nurse crumpled on the floor next to a golden retriever in an otherwise empty clinic. There is a surgical wound near the dog's tail and naively I think the dog is recovering from the haze of anaesthesia. When the nurse turns towards me to ask me what I need, she is crying. She is choking when she tells me the dog has undergone a surgery to remove a malignant tumor a few days ago, but the cancer has spread to his innards and the situation is gloomy.

Through the consultation room wafted the wailing and sobbing of two female voices, that of a mom and a teenage daughter. Just a look at the beautiful dog lying motionless on the floor with eyes half opened is heartbreaking. The daughter is a complete wreck, sobbing uncontrollably as she comes out to look at her beloved dog. She is going to bring him to the U.K. to be with her through university. She keeps saying the dog is only nine years old and she wants to bring him to the U.K. to spend more time with him.

After getting what I want from the teary nurse, I think it's only proper to give the family their privacy and moment of silence. The vet nods in my direction and gives me a bitter smile. There is only so much medicine can do.

I grab Porky and hold him next to me in bed last night. Just feeling the warmth of his body, the steady heart beat and his snoring make me realize how transitory life is. Losing Kobe is the worst thing that has happened to me in recent years. I cannot imagine losing Porky. I hope the golden retriever will not be in too much pain and the daughter can say a proper goodbye.

A Promise

My constant companion will turn eight this October, in doggie world that's fifty-six years old. I have delegated the care taking to Merlyn when she's still here. Now that I am the sole caretaker, I have discovered new traits I haven't noticed before.

I always tell people I am blessed with a pig who has a very mild temperament. Unlike his breed he is not prone to incessant barking. He is very sociable and doesn't bite. He behaves so well I take him almost everywhere with me. He has very good table manners and would never scramble for food on the table when we eat out.

The vet always say Porky is a gentleman, can't agree more. He is much loved in the neighborhood and he greets everyone. He likes people more than other pooches, which I deduce as him thinking he is a little human. I know Porky understands a lot of vocabulary but his association skill is amazing.

I have to run some errands yesterday and I promise him that if he is a good boy, I'll give him a "cookie" when I come back and we will go "running" afterwards. When I reach home at 6pm it is still piping hot outside. I just want to put all the bags down and cool off for a while. Porky is circling me all this time, following me to the kitchen. While washing my hands, he is already at the cookie jar wagging his tail. He remembers.

As the evening and night wear on, at one point he climbs up on the side of my chair and tap my thighs. He looks at me with those bright round eyes and a broad smile. Are we going to "run" yet? I tell him to wait. After a short while, he climbs up and taps me again. We should "run". I get up from the dining chair and he is already at his leash, pink tongue showing with a big grin.

After gearing up for our"run" we walk down the stairs. Lo and behold, it has started to rain! I mumble something, something, continuing our way down the stairs. When we reach the lobby, the security guard says it's raining, with all three of us staring at the glass door. Then Porky starts to bark at the door and the rain. It's the first time I have seen him do this. I take it he is really frustrated that after all the waiting to go "run" it's raining.

Seeing him thus, I ask the security guard to open the door anyway. The drizzle has become a downpour and with nothing to do except wait under the awning of the liquor store, I light up and start puffing. I have loosened Porky's leash and he tentatively steps out to test water. He returns to my side after several tries, deciding not to brave the fat droplets after all. Knowing these summer downpours will go away soon enough, I tell him we'll wait in the lobby.

True enough after five minutes or so, the rain has stopped. The security guard has treated Porky with a cookie but all this time he is looking at the glass door. He is so happy when the guard announces the rain has stopped and he looks at me expectantly. I fix his leash and off we go, his feet pattering on the wet pavement. Our "run" is half the distance we usually cover but short legged Porky seems to think his legs plus tummy are soaked enough so when I turn to go home there is no protest.

When we reach the lobby he starts to shake off the water. He is so contented he is wearing a big, big smile. With my flip flops squishing and Porky leaving wet paw marks in the hallway, we head for the elevator. While drying him he pokes his head through the towel to give me a slurp kiss. I guess it's his way of telling me he appreciates my delivering a promise.

After taking a long drink from his water bowl he lies down, heaves a mighty sigh and in no time I hear his famous snore. I pat him and bid him sweet dreams. Some pig.

Books and Blunder

A much welcomed email from B&N annouces the summer sale is here, and the long awaited paperback version of "The Lost Symbol" by Dan Brown is finally available for pre-order. Best of all, the books will be shipped to my sister's free of charge. This will be a great Christmas present pour moi when she comes back from the States in December.

This is a consolation to the passport blunder last month. I am supposed to attend my cousin's wedding in Toronto, then meet up with my girlfriend for a sojourn in New York City. Suffice to say I find out two nights prior to my departure that my passport has expired three months earlier!! Fortunately, the ticket has not been issued thereby the financial damage is contained, but the disappointment has permeated the rest of June.

I have been receiving post cards and parcels from New York. The "wish you were here" makes my heart glow. I have been so worried the ditched girlfriend from Toronto will be bored to tears braving the Big Apple on her own. Updates from my other girlfriend who lives in Jersey are really upbeat though. The two ladies have bonded so well they both describe as having found a long lost friend. How great is that?

Things happen for a reason. I have missed a lovely wedding and a gal pal trip to my favorite city. In retrospect though, I think it's a blessing in disguise. If not for my stupidity, I would not have known the support from those I have let down, knowing I will be my worst berator for failing them. This detour has been worth it afterall. "All's well that ends well" as the bard would have put it.

Why Indeed?

To tell the truth I don't feel like justifying myself as I grow older. I think it has a lot to do with coming to terms with my own quirks. I am very stubborn with certain things but I don't really care one way or another with other stuff. I have very strict priorities and strong beliefs. First on the list, I believe people should respect other people's sensibilities. We all have our reasons for being a certain way.

This post will not exist if not for a new aquaintance who not only likes to cut into you when you are talking but also bombard you with "why, why and more why". As if this is not irritating enough the worst is yet to come. The psycho babble that the reason I am single is because I have some inherent psychological hurdle I haven't overcome. Huh?

This is not an age thing but a life stage thing. People evolve over time. Some things may consume all your energy at one point but when you look at them at a later date, they may be totally irrelevant.

Oh yes, I take Porky everywhere, provided dogs are allowed. I cannot imagine going out with someone who does not love my kids. I want to be respected as an intelligent and independent woman. I want to be able to communicate with my significant other on the same level. I want us both to have big enough hearts and small enough egos.

I want to give back to mother nature for nurturing me all these years. I count my blessings for having so much love and abundance around me. Do I have high standards? Am I setting myself up for failure? My answer is a shrug. I don't care one way or another if this person shows up at this point in my life. I am completely at peace with myself.

Why am I this way? Why indeed?

(I love stairs, can't resist this photo from Design Sponge)

Preference

Desk from Design Sponge

It's been a year since Merlyn has left for the Philippines. I try to keep up with her routine in the early months especially with the kids, but I find myself resenting their every demand and I am always ill-tempered.

A few months back, I come across a detailed article on biological clocks. It's not new literature that early birds and night owls do exist. Most people tend to swing towards one side of the pendulum, but in extreme cases some people are built as birds or owls.

After a year's worth of experimenting, there is no doubt I am a night owl. I am completely out of sync with Merlyn's routine and the anger is a glaring sign I am in the wrong time zone. My schedule and that of the kids now are polar opposite to a year earlier. I go to sleep when I hear the birds chirping in the grey lights of early morning and wake up in the early afternoon.

I use to equate waking up late as being lazy but not anymore. I do the same amount of work, just in my own time zone. I go grocery shopping with Porky at 4am, no crowd, no traffic. I love walking Porky in the still of the night and bask in the the peace, the space. Being an early bird or a night owl is not necessarily one better than the other.

Whatever works. Life is stressful enough.

The Physick Book Of Deliverance Dane

This is one of those books that has me intrigued after reading its initial reviews. Foremost, it is a novel written in my favorite genre, that of historical fiction. Second, its subject matter holds tremendous fascination for me, that of witches, magic, spells and charms. Most compelling of all, the author is a direct descendant of two real witches from Salem, Massachusetts. How cool is that?

For centuries, women have been persecuted as accursed witches. According to the author, Katherine Howe, so called witches during the late 1600's are commonly known as cunning women. These are literate and bookish women, very much like Hermoine, who cure people with medicine, referred as tinctures, physicks and spells. People seek their help mostly as midwives or as vets for their farm animals.

Scenes from Harry Potter pop up everywhere as I read on. The talent is passed on from generation to generation. The witches are not evil women. On the contrary, they are devout and religious people. The herbs remind me so much of Harry's herbology class. Those shrieking mandrake roots are real and do look like babies, only they don't shriek but are really poisonous. Blue sparks do fly out from finger tips when magic power is used. Spell books do exist, known as a "receipt book" then which in reality is a recipe book, a recipe for spells.

The plot follows Constance, a graduate student from Harvard, spending a summer at her grandmother's run down cottage in Marblehead, where she chance upon a key in a Bible from which a thin piece of paper with the name Deliverance Dane is hidden. The search for the elusive name brings her to Salem, the site of the Salem witch trials, where she discovers more and more about herself and her ancestors.

When her boyfriend, Sam is afflicted by a curse, she turns to spells written on recipe cards in her grandmother's kitchen. Not only does the spell works, the curse bounces back to Connie's mentor, who covets Deliverance's book for his lifelong ambition in alchemy to make a philosopher stone.

It is an entertaining and flowing read. Though the story jumps from one time period to another, it has a clear linear path, interweaves fluidly and best of all, not overburdened by facts.

Thumbs up.

My Coffee

I think this is my expression when I sip the coffee my student has bought me. My initial reaction is that it's from one of the adults but when I ask him he puts a fist to his chest and says it's from him.

He has me worried over his other subjects when he keeps sighing and groaning when I ask him over the phone. Is he a sly one though because I am completely fooled. It turns out he has 100/100!! After our short session, we share a large pizza and watch TV, topped with loads of laughs and jokes. It's the best coffee and pizza I have had in a long while, despite the heartburn.

On another note, Camille and the young fellow have developed a fondness for each other. I am guessing perhaps they are of the same age? Camille is two years old cat age which equates to 14 human age. Camille always go MIA when there are strangers around but amazingly she is always at his feet. She is more attached to her hero than ever after he salvages her ball from under the fridge.

When he comes in today he asks me "Where is my girlfriend?" Gee, is this kitty love in the making?

Way to go!!

Desk by Ad Hoc Design

I receive a call from my tutor student and from his excited voice I can tell he has some great news to share. He has 100/100 on his English dictation!! I can picture him beaming ear to ear with his grade as I congratulate him on a job well done. This little fellow has delivered his end of the bargain and it's my turn to honor mine by treating him pizza if he gets full marks on the other subjects. Way to go!!

Reuse

I haven't put much thought into going green but I think this is a step forward. It's no secret I have a zoo and being individuals, they do their thing at different times. I simply cannot stand the refuse can containing excrement so I dump the bag when it is half full, sometimes even less. I know it is very wasteful but I just can't get past the psychological barrier that I want it out of the house.

Groceries used to come in free bags doubling as Ashley's hideout and free refuse bags. Then comes the plastic bag tax. I know it is a step to discourage people using plastic bags. However, it doesn't make sense to have to pay for a bag, so I bring along a large tote to bag groceries home now. With no freebies I have to resort to using more store bought garbage bags.

One morning, sitting in the kitchen sharing my soy bread with Porky, I see Camille going into the litter house to do her thing. We have just finished the last piece of bread and I have this plastic bag dangling in my hand, which I am prepared to throw away. I am poised to scoop whatever Camille has dropped off and the idea just pop that I can use the empty bread bag as a small refuse bag.

It is perfect for the job. I bag the whatever and after tying a knot I dump the small bag into the garbage can outside. I feel so frugal because I throw out full bags now, hence buying less gargage bags. Plus, it's good to know I am reusing unwanted stuff and contributing to going green.

Improvement

I am so happy when my tutor student proudly hands me his dictation workbook, 88/100!! He has failed the subject miserably the whole academic year. Although he dismisses this dictation has been way too easy, I can tell he is really pleased with his mark with that sly grin of his.

We proceed to study for his following task, where he has to memorize a paragraph and write it out in class. Facing the daunting paragraph which is actually only five sentences long, he starts to squirm in his seat and play with the cats. He keeps saying it's mission impossible and challenges me to memorize it.

I figure there is no better way to convince him it's not insurmountable than to show him if I can, he can, too. I memorize the sentences and minutes later I slam the book closed telling him I am ready. Sporting a smirk and raised eyebrows, he holds up the book and tells me to begin. As I proceed to recite the sentences, his eyes grow wider and wider. When I finish, his mouth is in the shape of an "O".

Having piqued his curiosity, I wedge my way in telling him there is a "magical" way to remember the paragraph. They are related sentences with hints you can take from the previous sentence to prompt you for the following one and so on to the end. At first he is in la la land, but after just four attempts, he totally gets it and it's 100% correct.

With a satisfied smile, he then asks me if he can watch some TV. He gets to sprawl on the sofa to catch his favorite show for twenty minutes. After a stretch he says he is off to meet his classmates for some basketball. Mission accomplished!!

The Good Wife

I am drawn to females playing pivotal roles in shows, especially those who bounce back from adversity. Basically, I like strong, independent, intelligent women, with a wry sense of humor, who are brave enough to embrace their own vulnerability. The Good Wife with Julianna Margulies is one of them.

The first season begins with Margulies as Alicia Florrick, finding out her state attorney husband has had an affair which is sensationalized by the media. Throughout the press conference, she plays the good wife, standing beside her husband Chris Noth (Mr. Big) to play down the negativity. After the conference and giving Noth a much deserved slap, she tries to pick up her life as a junior litigator and mom of two kids.

The season has just begun and the three episodes so far have been riveting with the court room drama and Margulies dealing with the aftermath of the affair, the judging and the criticisms. By the end of all twenty-three episodes, I trust that Alicia Florrick will be fully fleshed out as an endearing character. I read the second season is in production.

Margulies has won mutiple awards in TV dramas and The Good Wife is definitely a thumbs up.

Tutoring

I have taken in a 7th grade boy as my tutor student. His mom runs a congee shop in the neighborhood, which by the way the food is yummy. He is one of those clever kids who has every trick under his sleeve to do everything fun except for homework. Sound familiar?

The first lesson is English. He has to transcribe the vocabulary from a passage to his exercise book. It's done in ten minutes and he thinks the lesson is over. Right. I make him read the passage over and over again till he can pronounce every word. The witch tutor!! All along I will be whispering hints and clapping when he gets it right. I can tell with his little smile he is mighty pleased with himself.

I hear the adults have pretty much given up on him and his grades, though I think otherwise. All he needs is some form of positive reinforcement to gently coax him into thinking that school matters. Then again I believe a good character is more important than grades which happily he already exhibits. He greets everyone, runs errands for his mom and even gives Porky a free cake coupon for his birthday.

Let him be, he is only thirteen and if he makes it to college there are eleven more years of studying ahead. From what I can tell he is a good kid at heart and it's a great start.

Time

Two years into working from home, I have to hang my head and admit I have accomplished less than I initially hope for. I have read somewhere people who run home offices will be hit with this realization. At the time of the reading I have snickered it will never happen to me. Guess what? It has!! There are zillions of distractions at home and worse, I always harbor the delusion I have more time because I can work anytime I want. Right.

I just end up procrastinating more often. The only time when there is any sense of urgency is when a deadline is staring me at the face. I'd pull all nighters to get it done which ultimately compromises the quality. Suffice to say I am not too happy with it.

I have also come to realize that more freedom equals more discipline. When I don't have to clock in time like at the office, I slack. The all time excuse being I am waiting for my muse to inspire me. Yeah, right. It's true that sometimes I get stuck on a phrase or an idea and it takes some mental construction to see how it pans out. However, more often than not, these are purely excuses and proof that I am not pushing myself hard enough because I believe there is still time.

It's a good thing I am aware of it before I lose any work so it's high time to kick the habit of procrastinating and more importantly, to have a correct perspective of time. Time is too precious to waste.

The Dante Club

Read early last year, riveting to the end, a definite page turner


Just finished, dimmed by a loose plot, slow tempo and extraneous detail


Yet to read

I just finish reading The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl. I have high hopes for this Poe tale after reading Pearl's debut novel The Dante Club last year. It is such an engrossing read. The lingering magic of the book has sparked my interest in Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, especially how the book is parallelled against it. I have read its entirety, the Paradiso, Purgatorio and Inferno.

The Poe Shadow on the other hand has been quite disappointing. I guess the most difficult endeavor for every writer is to live up to the expectations of an earlier success. The Dante Club has been a sensation, so much so the best selling author Dan Brown is cited on the book cover touting "Matthew Pearl is the new shining star of literary fiction...with an immense gift for intricate plots."

The Poe Shadow attempts to solve the mystery surrounding Edgar Allan Poe's death and his last days leading up to it. The fictional character Quentin Clark is an attorney consumed with a desire to pursue the truth of Poe's demise in order to vindicate the slanderous rumors that Poe has died a delirious drunkard. Clark's belief that Poe has modeled the crime solving genius C. Auguste Dupin after a true person takes him to Paris to find the elusive character in Poe's tales.

The story is circuitous with two supposed Dupins going round and round with hypothetical conjectures and Clark endlessly combing through newspaper articles with any mentioning of Poe. This onslaught of facts, dates, places and details makes you wonder where it is heading. Meticulous research has gone behind it but the facts are just too crowded, slowing the tempo of the whole work. The Poe Tale is at best a narration of facts which has neglected the most compelling element of a novel, that of storytelling.

As for The Dante Club the plot structure and tempo is akin to The Da Vinci Code. The story follows a chain of murders mirroring punishments in Hell depicted in Dante's Inferno. Set in nineteenth century Boston, the Dante Club is made up of a circle of famous scholars, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russel Lowell and J.T. Fields.

The success of the book lies in Pearl's ability to flesh up every character, both real and fictional. As opposed to the factual narration in Poe's tale, this is story telling. The urgency to solve the murders is matched with the furious obsession of Longfellow and the Club members to translate the Inferno. The tightness of the plot compels you to piece the puzzle alongside the characters, eavesdropping in Longfellow's study for hunches and clues.

Fictions based on historical facts and real characters are extremely challenging where a fine balance hangs between research and imagination. It behoves to remember that with novels, readers are looking for a good story rather than pure research.

Online Shopping

This is an Agnes b. card purse I have bought online. I have never purchased anything except books online because of my suspicions that I might be cheated. How ironic when I have an online website for my cards!!

I decide to try it out at a local auction site and after looking through dozens of pages I am utterly frustrated. Whoever says shopping is a great past time is definitely wrong here. I simply want a card purse, how hard can that be? I choose the vendor with the highest ratings, confident that I have a found a bargain.

It's only a day's wait. I open the package and pat myself on the back for being such a savvy shopper. I decide to show off my prize to the expert online shopper at the cafe. Big mistake. I have bought the purse for double the price she has paid for exactly the same piece!! Thunderstruck, I ask her isn't this the price you tell me couple days ago? With one hand on her hip, she says, "it's for two, stupid". Dang!!

The vendor has given me an A+++ shopper rating, an A+++ idiot to be precise. I have reciprocated the rating upon receiving my package. I am now surrounded by advisers who console me there is a first with everything, that everyone makes mistakes and practice makes perfect. Gee!! How much do I have to waste and pay for a lesson well learnt and that lesson is shopping??? I am right in being wary about online shopping, it's not for idiots like moi. Sigh.

I love my purse though!!

Baby Carnations

Baby Carnations

I have had Kobe's ashes with me since he pass away on November 7, 2007. A few months ago, I decide to sprinkle his ashes on the Peak, the place he loves most, running in the grass and slurping on vanilla milkshake afterwards. By the time he finishes his two spoonfuls, he is a mini Yorkie after all, he would sport a vanilla moustache and beard. He is the cutest baby.

I would regularly get baby carnations and place the tiny vase beside Kobe's photo. Merlyn talks to him every day while dusting and cleaning. Every now and then I would see tears welling up in her eyes when she comes out of my room. Each month on the 7th we would light a white tea light candle to remember him, though he is in our hearts every day.

We always buy from the alley flower stall and the grandpa who mans the stall would unfailingly remind us not to put too much water in the vase because the stems will rot. He says a few drops of kitchen bleach mixed in the water will make the flowers last longer.

A couple days ago, I pass by his stall with Porky on our way to the supermarket. We stop to say hello and while chatting he asks if I have fallen out of love with carnations. While spilling out Kobe's story grandpa keeps nodding and sighing. After I finish he says in the language of flowers carnations represent remembrance. He then gives me a stem of carnation and says should I go to the Peak to visit Kobe, be sure to let him know so he could save the yellow ones for me.

It is a bittersweet moment and I can feel my eyes brimming with tears. Kobe my baby, I hope you are healthy and happy in doggie heaven looking over us. I love you and miss you. Mommy.

Naps

I am not a napping person. The rare times I do will see me waking up with a headache and numbed the rest of the day. Plus, sleeping during the day feels lazy and overindulgent. However, I find myself taking more naps these days. It never occur to me that writing is so draining. After hours at the computer I feel my brain has emptied out and I will be in a trance of sorts.

Doing mindless activities like watching TV, surfing the Internet or flipping glossy magazines do not help. Well then, I figure doing something productive can definitely take me out of this lull. Clinging my paperback I flip to the bookmark page and read. I will be totally engrossed in the first few pages, but soon enough I begin to lose focus, my eyelids get heavier by the minute and before I know it I am in la la land.

Amazingly my naps these days do not have the after effect of headaches. I wake up feeling refreshed and more alert. The naps are never more than thirty minutes since I'll be jolted awake by the kids, either the cats jumping on me, Dayee screaming or Porky wanting to get down from the bed.

Gone is the guilt. I now look forward to my naps as a recharging routine.

Votive Candles

Ranunculus blossoms in votive candle glasses

I have a weakness for candles. As a result I have a collection of burnt out votive candles gathering dust on a shelf. I have ruled out scraping the residual wax with knives because of the possible scar marks on the glass. One day, I come across a how-to guide on Martha's blog on cleaning votive candles.

I cannot believe the solution is this simple. Pop the candle in the freezer for a few hours. The rationale being the wax will contract in the cold and it can then be removed without any scraping.

I am pretty sure the glass will crack under the cold temperature but I decide to try it out anyhow, so I put two candles inside the freezer. After four hours I take the frozen votive out. I then use a knife to tease the wax around the glass, all the while remaining highly skeptical of my little experiment. Then I hear a tiny pop sound. I realize that air has been sucked in, meaning a vacuum is created between the wax and the glass.

This is the moment of truth. I turn the glass upside down and give the bottom a few knocks. The wax plop out with a thud on the kitchen counter. The glass is clean and gleaming with no trail of wax whatsoever!! I stand rooted to the spot holding the frosted glass, until the numbing cold from my fingers wake me from my trance. It works!!

My freezer is crammed with a dozen candles now. This simple tip has taken care of a problem that has been irking me for a long time and I am looking forward to a variety of glass holders. Above are the two votive candles from the experiment and they make such perfect vases for solitaire blossoms.

What a great tip from Martha!!

Unconditional Love

Homeless man cuddling his dog

Porky has been limping recently and it has worsened considerably over the week. On top of that I am a bit worried about his bladder. So off we go to our neighborhood vet. While waiting for our turn, a man comes in with a big dog in a diaper. The dog is skin and bones with bald spots instead of hair and clearly in very bad shape.

Out of suspicion that the man is mistreating the dog I ask him point blank what his dog is in for. He says she is suffering from a bad case of diarrhea, hence the diaper. He then tells me she is 17 years old, which is 119 in human years. She could barely see or hear and her sense of smell is almost gone. The amazing thing is the dog has been walking around all this time instead of wimping and whining.

After a 30-minute wait it's finally Porky's turn but looking at the poor dog, I ask the man to go ahead. Thanking me profusely all the while, he struggles to carry his dog into the consultation room. It is not a big clinic. The consultation room is just behind the reception with the waiting area right next to it, so you can pretty much hear everything being said. The vet asks the man about the general health of the dog. Except for the diarrhea, the senior lady is in mighty good shape. Her senses have deteriorated but she has a strong will to live. Bear in mind she is 119 human years old.

Further questioning from the vet has prompted the man to remember the dog has stolen a sandwich from the coffee table couple days ago, corn beef with egg to be exact. Having identified the sandwich as the culprit I expect to hear the usual lecturing from the vet. To my utter surprise the vet's advice is to give her whatever she wants. The dog is in her twilight years and every day is a miracle.

I am truly humbled by this man and his dog. This is unconditional love and commitment, through sickness and health. Porky's only seven but I know one day he would be showing all the signs of the aging dog we meet that day. I dread the day but my consolation is knowing I would be with him every step of the way, just like he's been with me all these years.

Change of Scenery

Poems by Walt Whitman with a bouquet of pale pink roses

I have experienced countless writer's blocks since I begin to write in earnest. Some days my mind would be a total blank. Some days, I would be muted by a lack of words to express my intended meaning. Most days, I would be editing myself to death by rewriting a paragraph over and over again. It is not pleasant to say the least.

I have recently subscribed to a mobile network which gives me the freedom to take my laptop everywhere but the downside is the battery lasts two hours at most. Under this very real time constraint, coupled with a heightened self awareness that I have just ordered a coffee occupying someone's table for a lengthy time, work has become more productive. The mind works in mysterious ways. For some reason, this two hour deadline has given me a purpose to finish or polish whatever piece I am working on. Words simply flow.

Not that writing at the usual desk is a bore and a chore, but a change of scenery has really worked wonders. The people watching is a great distraction but the best thing is taking off the pressure of writing in a relaxed environment. I would definitely do it more often from now on.

Luminous Makeup

I am fortunate to have a big window spanning an entire wall, with a panoramic view of some magnificent trees on the street opposite. Spring is definitely in the air. The flowering trees are sprinkled with pink and white blossoms. This time of year is much treasured as come summer, the pinks and purples will be replaced by a monotone green.

Spring is also the season skincare brands start pushing their whitening products. Whitening is taken to a new height this year by the many brands introducing the "luminous look". Having a flawless complexion is simply not good enough, the skin should be glowing with light. Right.

Amongst the onslaught of catalogues, the one that has caught my eye is the meteorite pearls by Guerlain. It's a finishing powder that promises to bring a pearl like glow to your face. The pastel pearls come in different tints. All it takes is swirling the makeup brush to pick up the brightening hues to bring out a glow not found in ordinary powders.

I would love to try the new powder, though it would have to wait till my quality of sleep improves, because no amount of makeup could cover the the sallow complexion of fatigue. My luminous equation~ 70% good night's sleep+20% good skincare routine+10% makeup. When the 70% finally happens, I will definitely go to the Guerlain counter to see if the meteorite pearl lives up to its promise.

The Alienist

I have donated more books than I want to admit to the library. The fact that I can part with the stacks so easily means I have been buying indiscriminately. After heaving the latest bulk to the library's reception, I have made a solemn promise to myself to think through before buying and pick only those that hold the promise of immense satisfaction after reading them.

I am patiently waiting for The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown to come out in paperback, still no sign of it. Feeling disappointed I am about to get "a book" to fill the loss when I remember my promise of no splurging. I come out of the bookstore empty handed. Being a voracious reader and book lover it's no minor feat. Itching for something to read one sleepless night I succumb to combing my bookshelf. I am about to give up when my wandering eyes stop at the spine of The Alienist.

Armed with the musty paperback I turn the yellowing pages to the preface where I write down the date for every read, October 2, 1995. Whoa, this is a 15 year old book! A even more surprising find is a boarding pass stub from Los Angeles. Huh, Los Angeles, 1995? I have racked my brain to place the trip but so far it has eluded me.

Well, it's been quite a while since I devour a book with reckless abandon, reading into the wee hours of the morning. After two consecutive nights of marathon reading, by the time I put down The Alienist the following night it's 4am.

I am drawn to detective and crime novels, especially those with historical settings. Aside from the riveting guessing of who-dun-it, I love to see how the author interweaves the fictional characters within the context of true events into a seamless plot. I am always awed by the research behind the writing, the imagination of the author and the technique to place fact and fiction together.

Set in New York 1896, the story follows the cracking of a series of grisly and gruesome murders of young boys. The alienist, Dr. Kreizler has taken a personal interest in the case and along with his team, has managed to construct the profile of the killer, a method rarely used in those days.

Psychology is a relatively new science back then and criminals have two fates awaitng them, that of the gallows or the asylums. They are either born bad, therefore sane or born crazy, therefore insane when committing the crimes.

Dr. Kreizler has an alternate belief that murderers are molded from childhood nurturing. People are not born bad by nature. As the story pans out you will find yourself sympathizing with the murdurer, the torturer has been a tortured child once. The piecing of the missing puzzle is gripping till the very end.

All in all, it's a page turner. Since I don't recollect the details after a fifteen year span, it is a brand new read, well except for the musty smell. The case is solved but I am still perplexed as ever about the 1995 trip.

The Tipping Point

I have been following a creative writing blog with gusto for some time. It has breathed many new insights to my otherwise stale writing of late. A recent post is titled "What is your character's drug of choice?" Its focal point being everyone is addicted to something we simply can't live without. It's the thing "the character will hold on to for normalcy and sanity". It does not have to be a substance addiction, it can be a memory, a person or even a pet.

I have been plagued by the dilemma "to move or not to move" for months. This inner struggle has been tormenting me every waking minute and it's literally driving me mad. While reading the post I can totally see myself as the said character. My drug is my pad, the place I feel safest and sanest. My major reluctance to move being after living in the same place for six years, I feel like I have found my roots. In essence, I have found a sense of belonging and I have never felt so at peace.

During this time, there has been no shortage of advice to move to a smaller place or a different area to pay less rent. The very reality that I will be uprooted has tipped me to genuine despair. I am not sure if my insistence has moved Providence to help. For the first time in months, I can feel the black cloud of despair dissipating and a sense of "normalcy and sanity" returning.

What a relief.

Words

Whenever I sit down to do any serious reading, I always have pen and scrap paper with me. The purpose is to mark down words I don't know or just vaguely. I hate reading something without knowing its intended meaning. The reading is done, but no meaning is deciphered from it. A half way comprehension is hence a complete waste of time.

This modus operandi has been going on for several years. I even have a notebook especially for my new found vocabulary. It's truly humbling to acknowledge one's ignorance in face of all the circled words. I still can't suppress a jolt looking at their numerous counts every time. I consider myself as pretty literate but when an elusive word keeps escaping or a phrase is used over and over again for want of a better one, I know I am still a long way off from mastering the language.

The saying "you are what you eat" can be translated to "you are what you read". I try to stay away from summary, synopsis or any truncated work. In this day and age where information is brimming, one wants to be briefed on everything, making highlighted versions extremely addictive. Tempting it may be, there is a reason why an original work is written a certain way, it is meant to be savored.

Emerson puts it, "So in writing, there is always a right word, & every other than that is wrong. There is no beauty in words except in their collocation. The effect of a fanciful word misplaced, is like that of a horn of exquisite polish growing on a human head."

Well said.
(photo: www. wordpress.com)

Anthony Hopkins - Painter

I get updates on news topics via email and one of the headlines on Reuters today is Sir Anthony Hopkins having an art exhibition. A friend asks me if it is the self same actor. After doing some reading and digging on the Internet. Yes it is.

Above is a work by Sir Anthony, acrylic on canvas. I read he uses a palette knife instead of brushes to paint. Aside from the bold colors, the focal point of his abstracts are the eyes on the faces or masks. He believes the eyes are the life of a person. It shows. Some of his work are being auctioned at http://www.artnet.com/.

Sir Anthony is one of the few actors who has a definitive factor in my choice of movies. If he is in it, even a small role, I am watching it. He can steal any scene just by his presence. Coupled with his accent, he is Welsh, he is simply mesmerizing on screen and off. An actor of his caliber is rare and his creative pursuit as a painter at age 72 proves that creativity is a life long endeavor. It is a great stimulus for people with dreams to not procrastinate. Just do it. Bravo.

(photo: www.artnet.com)

A Perfect Valentine's

Almost every girl has a preconceived notion of what constitutes a perfect Valentine's Day. Flowers, chocolates, candle light dinners and little presents are all parts of it. The anticipation on the girl's side cannot be understated, adding to the importance of D-day. With the arrival of Valentine's day proper, the moment of truth is revealed. Will it be sheer joy or utter disappointment?

First scenario, the guy shows up with flowers and the works. The girl feels her life is complete with no regrets whatsoever.

Second scenario, the guy shows up, but there is no present, no chocolate, no candle light dinner and no flowers. The devastation is complete and indescribable.

Third scenario, the guy does not show up at all. The heart is shattered, all hopes are dashed. Of all the things a guy can do to break a girl's heart, the cruelest thing is breaking up on the most important days in a girl's calendar, her birthday, Christmas eve, New Year's eve and Valentine's Day.

My scenario, I have a surprised delivery of chocolate mousse, chestnut cake and tiramisu. I am totally touched by the thoughts behind it. Knowing I have been out at a dinner with almost nothing edible for a vegetarian and thinking I might be hungry, the singular thought is getting me something to eat. I am told it has to be something sweet, as it is Valentine's Day.

I just have to smile. I've had the perfect Valentine's and this is indeed the perfect gift.

White

New Year is ushered in only a little more than a month ago, with Valentine's Day and Chinese New Year two days fresh. After a full month of gatherings and get-together, lying on the couch with a good book seems to be most appealing. What if you have another "thing" before having the luxury to relax and do nothing?

When you feel like you have been up for months, everything seems like a chore. Suddenly, eyeglasses, pyjamas, ponytail, sans makeup is "the" look you want. Sadly, if you have another "do" to attend you have to look somewhat "together".

White eye shadow and eye liner are the "it" makeup this season. I am drawn to them not because of the hype, but as an instant booster to droopy eyes. When you are this tired, the less steps you have to complete doing your makeup is a god sent.

Apply the white eye shadow on the upper eyelids. Use the white eye liner to line the lower rim of your eyes above the lashes. Don't stop until you have filled the little triangle area towards the end of the eye. Smudge the white liner a bit to make it more natural.

The two steps above ought to brighten your eyes even without mascara and other eye makeup. It beats dabbing and evening out concealer. It takes a couple tries to make it look right, but at least it's white and not black eye shadow or eye liner which you have to cleanse to get rid of. A tissue is all it takes for a do over.

I have an earlier post of using concealer as an instant eye brightener. However, if you feel like you are not here, there or anywhere, white eye shadow and liner are safer choices. You don't want to have caked concealer while exerting your last effort to look you are present.

Valentine New Year

Valentine's Day happen to fall on Chinese New Year this year. It's supposed to occur every thirty eight years. As opposed to the usual bouquet of cut flowers, I have received a big vase of orchids arranged with a mass twirl of silvery buds. It feels more celebratory than romantic so I guess New Year's has won out as the decoration theme this Valentine's.

I could not resist sweet peas when I chance upon them and they have fondly become everyday flowers around the house. Sweet peas come in many different shades and shapes and I always marvel at their variations during their frequent albeit brief sojourn on my desk.

The free flowing sweet peas are the Midas touch, adding sweetness and romance to the otherwise austere Valentine orchids.

Comprehension

People on social networks update their statuses all the time, I am guilty of it, too. Mostly it would be about what we are doing, will be doing, something about nothing, something that will be forgotten as soon as the next update replaces the one before it.

Some updates are vague, but if you look closer there are layers of hidden meanings beneath them. These will stay with you for a long time because at the moment of comprehension, the writer and you have touched and connected.

One such is "the greatest distance on earth is not between continents...". Knowing the writer, the phrase translates to "the greatest distance is between two people". The sadness implied is impenetrable.

One is about the writer feeling like an alien, not understanding what earth people think. It is not a random status. Suffice to say the writer has discovered a fellow alien and one alien has felt the heaviness of the other through space.

People wished to be listened on an emotional level, to be comprehended. My wish is for more people to listen with their hearts. Remember Le petit prince?

Organic Forgiveness

How often we find ourselves turning our backs on our actual friends, that we might go and meet their ideal cousins. ~ Henry David Thoreau

Forgiveness is a subtle art that has huge benefits. One of the reasons it is not more widely practiced is that we don't preface our forgiveness with acceptance. Many well-intentioned people try to jump over their negative feelings to achieve forgiveness. Perhaps some people can seal off their negative feelings with a shift to forgiveness, but most of us find that unless we achieve an organic forgiveness, the negative feelings keep coming back.

The art of organic forgiveness rests on fully acknowledging your negative feelings for the person you're trying to forgive. When you can celebrate your anger or sadness about the person, you can often feel the blossoming of a more permanent form of forgiveness. the negative feelings you nay have about the other person usually recede and disappear only after they are fully acknowledged. (Excerpt from A Year of Living Consciously by Gay Hendricks)

I think this is the main reason why people who are estranged cannot wholly heal and bridge the chasm of bad feelings, the negativity is still in the system. We do have to fully acknowledge its existence and deal with it before the relationship can be redeemed.

(photo: www.123rf.com)