Time, time, and more time

I very briefly had a person in my life a long while back who at one time said something to the effect of, "Nothing can replace time spent."  Blah blah.  I didn't like her and so I thought that she was being difficult.  Who has TIME, after all?  It annoys me that she was right.  But at the time, I was very young and the time I spent with her annoyed me even more than admitting now that she had a point.  

Here's how I saw it...

I thought that when I looked back on my childhood, it would be the BIG EVENTS that my parents or other adults took me to that I remembered most.  It would be the Disney trip, the cruise, the amazing hotels and posh dinners out.  I remember a few things ABOUT those events (someone ELSE was called Alexis at Disney! I met a penpal on the open seas that I kept in touch with for EIGHT years; my stepfather STOLE salt and pepper shakers from the Fairmont in Banff [seriously, he was an upstanding human being, he was just being silly]; and I learned  that saying "I'm full" is sooooo rude--one should say, "I'm satisfied.")  In short, all those moments at those big places, on those expensive trips were really just mundane moments that we could have had at home.

You know what I do remember clearly?  That my mother dropped me off at and picked me up from school nearly everyday in high school (I advise anyone with a teenager that they need more supervision than a toddler.  Trust).  Sure she was smoking with one hand, talking on the mobile phone with the other, and gear-shifting somehow at the same time as driving, but we were together.  I remember times spent chatting about our days over dinner in front of the TV (gasp!  There is nothing wrong with TV!  We all need to unwind and I can, shock horror, usually watch mind-numbing Friends reruns AND have a conversation about my day simultaneously.)  

I remember seeing my grandparents every weekend and just SITTING AROUND without a phone, without much more than idle conversation happening, save Judge Judy playing really loudly in the background.  My Dad takes a nap nearly every time he's there!

I remember making and eating meals...so many meals.  I remember really having to TALK to my family and enjoying doing so.  Sometimes I actually can recall exact moments when things shifted, I saw something differently for the first time, I rethought a previously engrained idea.  And all of this happened in the everyday.

Last night Steven and I went out for drinks and dinner.  We don't do it that often, as I love to cook and so we have dinner together most nights here at the house.  It's nice to read an article like this one below and get confirmation that there is value and uniqueness in the everyday moments. 

Couples move in together not just because it’s economically prudent. They understand, consciously or instinctively, that sustained proximity is the best route to the soul of someone; that unscripted gestures at unexpected junctures yield sweeter rewards than scripted ones on date night; that the “I love you” that counts most isn’t whispered with great ceremony on a hilltop in Tuscany. No, it slips out casually, spontaneously, in the produce section or over the dishes, amid the drudgery and detritus of their routines. That’s also when the truest confessions are made, when hurt is at its rawest and tenderness at its purest.

Quote from the NY Times, via Cup of Jo.

In the end, it's true, nothing can replace time spent.  

A Return to Love

I still watch Oprah as much as I possibly can and when she interviewed Marianne Williamson about her book, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of a "Course in Miracles", I was drawn to her.  The Kindle edition of the book was about £10, which is an insane price to pay for any book, but then "miraculously" went on offer for some ridiculously low price.  I'm sure this meant it was meant to be.  I snapped it up and didn't put it down for some time.  I made some notes on what I felt were the key points and would like to share what I learned...

Four golden nuggets:

"You are a magnificent creature with an abundance of love and power to give."


"You awaken to your own perfection through your desire to see the perfection in someone else."

"I could choose to see others through a generous, trusting nature."

"Forgiveness is the only sane response."

About living in the past (something I always so earnestly try not to do, but find it so, so comforting):

"Past, present, and future are not continuous, unless you force continuity upon them."

"By bringing the past into the present, we create a future just like the past."

About listening to the right part of yourself (and trying to quiet the voice that does not serve us as much):

"But the ego is relentless--it is capable of suspiciousness at best and viciousness at worst."

About my greatest fear in relationships (because if this isn't me all over, I don't know what is):

"I'm afraid to show you the real truth about myself --my fears, my weaknesses-- because I'm afraid that if you see them, you'll leave.  I'm assuming you're as judgemental as I am."

But then there is this, which I'm starting to wholeheartedly believe, though a bit later in life than I am proud of:

"If my husband or boyfriend heals with his past relationships, it only increases his capacity to love me from a healed and whole place.  The last woman in his life is not my competition.  She is my sister."

And in those moments when someone says something that's your trigger...something that boils your blood, isn't this precious to keep in the back of your head? 

"The devil does not lie in what he just said.  He is not the enemy.  The enemy is this feeling, which in the past has led me to attack or defend enough to make him feel exactly what I'm feeling he's feeling but he really isn't.  I can choose to see this differently.  This is my wall.  'This is it.  Right here.  There is where the sword enters my heart.  This is where I blow it every time.'"

About all those things you were never shown, never given as a child and how we use it as an excuse to never manifest those things in our lives NOW:

"If you recognise that something was not GIVEN to you in youth, GIVE IT TO SOMEONE ELSE now.  The choice to give what i haven't received is always an available option."

Leanne has this aversion to the expressions, "good girl" or "good boy" (similarly adverse to the opposing "bad girl" and "bad boy").  I'm not sure if it's only me now that has come to internalise this and make this my strife as well, but it's come to annoy me just as it has her all these years.  My interpretation of the disdain is that an action, a feeling, an emotion does not dictate who we are intrinsically.  If I do a good deed, that does not make me a good person.  My worth is not tied to an action.   

Likewise, a bad action, feeling, emotion does not make me a bad person.  Indeed, we are all intrinsically good: we are all born good.  It's true that a slew of bad actions, bad emotions, bad feelings can turn one into a bad person (after a loooong time), but a one-off certainly doesn't necessitate this same truth.  Thus, reading the next passage confirmed for me that my authentic self is not a nasty self; not an angry self; not a righteous self.  My authentic self is nice.  When I have moments of "bad feelings" they are only that: I've not morphed into some bad person.  Without further ado, 

"Just because we have an honest feeling, that doesn't mean it's who we honestly are.  My angry self is not the real me."

The book ends with a whirlwind of discussion about parents, Christmas, and Easter (what a mish-mash) and what these people and holidays symbolise in our everyday lives.  It was hard to follow, truthfully, and deeply rooted in Christian ideology.  I did, however, find this particularly interesting, as I've been a part of and have witnessed my family live this truth.  I suppose that as I work to become more enlightened, a process Williamson argues most of humanity is becoming more comfortable with, I shall bear this in mind, too:

"If we hold grievances against our mother, we will not be able to escape self-condemnation as we grow into womanhood."

Hope your summer reading is going well!

An Unapologetic Life

I long to live a life free from apology. 

I feel it's been ingrained in me for as long as I can remember to be apologetic about just about everything.  Steven maintains it's a Canadian thing; my mother would probably argue it's a female thing; but then my father is a titch sorry at times too (found this great idiom website that supports what my spellcheck rejected), so I'm pretty sure that a) I come by this honestly but b) that it's been unchanged and unchanging for most of my life, thus, c) it will be a difficult task to change it now.  Difficult but not impossible.

Let me explain a bit…

I was running last weekend (this is an overly long paragraph to get to, perhaps, is a poignant issue for me.  Forgive the run-on [pun not intended]) feeling the fairly hot sun on my exposed shoulders (the ecstasy of it!), but feeling very warm in my legs.  I'd worn my favourite Lululemon running tights: the ones that are perfect for chilly Burlington winters, but not so perfect on springtime-in-Purley days.  I could have worn my far-too-short-for-running-at-this-time-of-year shorts (also Lululemon…they make me run faster, I swear), but in reality, I should have worn my capri running pants.  But then they flare a bit at the knee and wouldn't it be nice to have a tight pair of running pants that cutoff at the knee?  Oh but I don't need those, surely.  I have a surplus of clothing, a magnitude of apparel for all things to do with hitting pavement, and I certainly don't need anything in addition to what I have.  

I was sorry for even thinking it.

Then I started to think about just why I felt so sorry.  And sorry to whom?  I began to think about the very idea of being sorry and when did this apologetic nature take me over.  

People who may know me, or those who used to know me, might not wholeheartedly agree with this notion that I am sorry all the time.  In fact, I've been known to be a bit b*tchy in expressing my views, failing to hide true feelings, and blurting first, thinking second….third…whatever.  That aside, I still feel sorry.  I feel sorry even in thought to myself!, never mind how I feel when I interact with others.  I replay conversations in my head, I re-say what I could have, should have said in place of what I actually said.  I brush it off only to revisit it over and over again.  I make faces at what I thought, what I did, what I failed to do.  I cringe at decisions I've made, ways I've gone about executing decisions, feelings I've inevitably hurt along the way.  And over and over again, the underlying theme here is that I'm sorry.  

I apologise for just about everything, even if it's never said aloud, trust me, I'm feeling an, "I'm really sorry" on the tip of my tongue.  I'm sorry I live here (and not there), I'm sorry you're alone during the holidays, I'm sorry I can't see so-and-so grow up, sorry I can't have one last holiday with so-and-so before they such-and-such, sorry we don't have more conversations that flow like they used to, sorry I feel the way I do, sorry I react the way I do, sorry I don't support enough, sorry I am overbearing, sorry I want things just so.  

But then there's the flip side: I'm thrilled that I live here.  I'm excited that you get to start anew.  I'm accepting of the fact that growing up means at times growing apart, but what an amazing milestone to pass on to the next generation.  I'm so thankful for the time I've already had and not sorry at all that my taking the next steps in my own life means that I can't be in two places at once, can't put all my eggs in one basket, can't spend frivolously on flights home.  I am renewed and filled with love when we do talk: no time has passed, no changes have been made, and yet all the changes, all the time…it makes us who we are.  And that's wicked.   I'm completely happy with decisions I've made thus far, of the people I've met, of the people I've loved, of the people I've lost, of the people who have hurt me, and of the people I get to spend time with now, later, sometime.  

Maybe it's time for me to live a life for which I will not apologise. I act in a purposeful way: a way that serves me, serves the life I want to lead, serves the future for which I am planning.  Am I not the expert then in making choices that will lead to the most fruitful outcomes in terms of those things?  I think it's time to invest a little more faith in my ability to invest wisely in my own future so to ensure profitable dividends.

I will forever be indebted to those who trampled on me, to My Past Self for allowing that to happen, and to My Present Self for recognising those qualities in others and steering clear…very clear.  And I'm not sorry for having met them, having known them, having loved them, and having lost them.  Because all of those interactions  those situations, those losses are what make us who we are today.  And maybe one day, sooner rather than later, I won't be sorry for every little thing that I do, don't do, say, don't say, forget, misplace, and think.  I'm working on it.

   

Simple Reminders

I just had the most glorious conversation with a mother of one of the kids I tutor.  She had heard that I was moving on, rendering me unable to tutor her son any longer.  Though she was sad to see me go, she asked me to tell her about what changes were on the horizon.  As I told her that we're moving (in together) to a whole new part of the country (well, still south of London, but it feels worlds away) and that I'd accepted a new job near Brighton, she wistfully shook her head and smiled at me.

"Oh my, so much to look forward to!  I know it must seem like a lot of worry right now, Alexis, but this is only the beginning.  You have such a wonderful life ahead of you.  As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

It was just the sweetest thing to hear, and coming from a woman who has had a very rewarding career and managed to raise three intelligent, successful children, while maintaining a healthy marriage, this truly meant the world.  It's funny...I don't think it's a lot of worry at all, but when I'm in the thick of things, knee-deep in yet another teen issue that will invariably be gone by the next day, it starts to get a bit heavy.  I'll do my best to keep this in mind. 

Bring it on, I say.  So I'll banish the worry for now...as often as I can, in favour of relishing in the thought that even more good things are on the horizon.

 

Image courtesy of Reap and Sow

Sharing...my grandmother

I've always believed death to be a very private matter.  I've also always thought, much to the chagrin of many around me, that death is a part of life.  And though it may seem that I'm minimizing what it means to lose a loved one, I can't help but see it is a gentle passing from this one, physical realm into the next, spiritual one.

On that note, I'm ready to share...

My grandmother was a force to be reckoned with.

In all my memories of her, I can never recall a time when she seemed weak, defeated, or tired.

She was a true fighter from a tender age, growing up with five siblings.  She spoke highly of her mother and father, praised her brothers and sisters, and cherished the time she spent with them.  Though the stories from long ago certainly did raise an eyebrow when we heard them for the umpteeth time, she never allowed the injustices that she suffered to be silenced; never allowed that time to be forgotten.  What happened to her in a lifetime, the good, the bad, and the extraordinary, was part of what made her, her.  And it was all magical.

My grandmother used to warm me up, wrap me in her arms, and cradle me in her ample bosom.  She enveloped us all in that warmth, riddling the house with her infectious laughter. 

She used to keep the best things: a heart-shaped plaque from my Mom that taught me the word “ally”; hand-made Afghans; dull knives with wooden handles; a television older than me.  She taught me what teak furniture was, how important a magnifying mirror is for the bathroom, and that freshly squeezed orange juice was well worth the effort.  She showed me how to make goulash, vanille kipfl, and apple strudel.  I make them now and inevitably think of her, recall the smells from her kitchen, have the urge to sprinkle a little sugar on my salad.

I’ll remember the years we shared, sleeping in adjoining bedrooms; I’ll remember the time she spent explaining the characters at length from All My Children; I’ll remember the love advice she poured on me so I’d listen; I’ll remember the hilarious songs she used to sing.  I’ll remember how magical it felt to be in Austria, surrounded by the country she came from.  I’ll remember that it felt like I was coming home, remembered the language somehow, and felt as though she was right there beside me.  Because I suppose she was…and I suppose she is now.

I wore a sweater she knit for me a few weeks ago and proudly told everyone that she’d made it, not thinking about how very long ago that was.  I didn’t think about the failing eyesight and the memory lapse: I only thought about HER.  Because we aren’t the things that happen to us, but the people we are inside, the people we were in our glory, the people we are becoming.  I missed her ferociously as I put my finger through the hole that wasn’t stitched quite right.  I missed her ferociously as I meticulously picked off fluff balls.  How much longer will this sweater last?  Will it be long enough?

Maybe it never really feels long enough.  The love stays though.  And I do love her. 

 

In Love

“Of everything I have seen,

it’s you I want to go on seeing:

of everything I’ve touched,

it’s your flesh I want to go on touching.

I love your orange laughter.

I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.

What am I to do, love, loved one?

I don’t know how others love

or how people loved in the past.

I live, watching you, loving you.

Being in love is my nature.”

Pablo Neruda

Quote courtesy of Bippity Boppity Boo

those nights

It must sound like
the strangest thing to say
but tonight I looked 
out into the night --
     god, she looks the same everywhere,
     doesn't she? --
and I felt a longing
for loneliness.

I didn't realize I missed it: 
it's been so long since I've felt it.
But it washed over me
and I came to recognize,
quite quickly,
that I missed that nagging emotion.

The night --
     god, her lights twinkle
     just the same from coast
     coast, don't they? --
she reminds me of days gone by;
of nights like these:
warm, alone,
ripe with anticpation.

She reminds me that the
feeling I used to feel,
that used to radiate 
from the back of my mind to finally 
encapsulate my thoughts,was loneliness.
As if I could forget.

It was so raw, so real.
It used to make me feel so valid;
so honest;
so alive. 

A longing I've missed;
a longing I didn't know
could tease me like this,
came flooding over me.
Because this night --
     god, her dead branches 
     are all from the same country,
     aren't they? --
this night reminded me 
that you have me now,
warm, safe, happy.

And no matter how much she looks
like those nights long ago,
no matter how cold her branches,
and how twinkly her lights,
those nights are over.

Those nights; those nagging thoughts;
those tender heartstrings.

Those nights have turned into these nights:
bath-side, love-filled, hands-held, cuddled-in.
It's about time.

Image courtesy of Bippity Boppity Boo

Lessons from the Light

Image courtesy of Girl in London

This is SO England.  The streets are wet, the gates are locked, and the light...oh the light...is phenomenal.  It's not because it's always cloudy here: that's a fallacy.  It's because the light here is something to behold: it's stunning.  

When the sun comes out here, we rejoice. 

Never do we ask, "Where have you been?!" or belittle her by telling her it's been far too long since she's been around.  

We don't laugh at her when she only pokes her head out from behind a cloud or find ourselves needing to shield ourselves from her radiating glow.  

We stare up at her, amazed, bewildered, and completely, utterly entranced.  She is the source, she is the warmth; she is the alleviation of all those sad feelings that come from too many cloudy days.  She glistens off surfaces so brilliantly that when she's gone, you still remember that glow.

Maybe we could all learn a lesson 

about how to treat people 

from how we treat the sunshine

here in England. 

Reaching for Warmth

 

And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. 

And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. 

And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.

Quote courtesy of 10 Stigwood.

Tomorrow is a big day for a lot of people.  

I hope you find inner strength 

and peace in knowing 

that we're often far stronger 

than we give ourselves credit for.

That, and knowing that there's always another tomorrow

to get better.

xx

Sheer Joy

Image courtesy of Girl in London

Results came in at school today.  I am tha-rilled about many almost all of the marks the kiddies got, and a little disappointed at others a teeny tiny number.  All in all, it's been a really amazing day.  The headmaster is happy, my boss is happy, and the children will be ecstatic tomorrow.  Need I mention that this all makes Yours Truly very happy as well (exhausted from feeling way more emotions than one needs to feel in a day, but really happy)?  Maybe so.

In my Year 10 class today, I was so pleased to catch one in a moment of sheer joy.  So pleased in fact that I needed to share it.  Kids were talking about the free salt that you get at a fish and chip place (I guess they give it out) and he was being quite silly about telling this story, but he let go and starting giggling and just couldn't stop.  I don't usually allow for silly behaviour (it's not what gentlemen do, or so I tell them), but it was nearly 3:30 and it had been one long day.

What an amazing moment to see ultimate happiness passing over a face I've known for as long as I've been here.  He's not exactly my favourite kid, but the fact that he did so darn well on his test (again, results day) and the fact that so much joy was haphazardly strewn across his face, spreading quickly to his classmates (and, admittedly to his teacher) made it all worthwhile.  

Joy is what I've wished for everyone around me

...one down, a few left to go!

Resolutions, Part I

No one loses when one acts with humility and grace.

 Quote courtesy of All Things Stylish

As a matter of fact, according to The New Advent (yeah, I'm quoting from the Book of James now), "Humility is said to be a fit recipient of grace."  Thus, I'm resolving this year to live with them. 

 

Auld Lang Syne

This is a modern-day English translation of the song we all play at the brink of the new year.  I've been thinking a lot about the message in it over the last few days: should we forget about those people no longer in our lives?  Should we move on past the memories and days of old and start forging our way into uncharted territory?  I have lived a long time looking back, recalling fondly days of old, and struggling to live in the present.  Over the last three years, as you may recall reading, I've actively pursued living a life of now as opposed to one of forward planning or backward reminiscing and I've gotten pretty good at identifying my feelings, living in the moment, and acting accordingly.  

I guess when certain things happen as we move through life, it certainly gets us thinking about...things.  Thus, I'm reflecting today on these lyrics.  I think the one that I've not noticed before today is one of the last: 

"And surely you'll pay for your pint 

And surely I will pay for mine."  

I can't help but think this means that we all pay for ...no... suffer the consequences ...no... are responsible for our actions.  Everything we do and fail to do will matter in some insignificant way or in some substantial way at some point in our lives.  So I'm going to keep living accordingly. 

Image courtesy of Bippity Boppity Boo

Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago?

For times gone by, my dear
For times gone by,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For times gone by.

We two have run about the hillsides
And pulled the daisies fine,
But we have wandered many a weary foot
For times gone by.

We two have paddled in the stream
From noon until dinner time,
But seas between us broad have roared
Since times gone by.

And there is a hand, my trusty friend,
And give us a hand of yours,
And we will take a goodwill drink
For times gone by.

And surely you will pay for your pint,
And surely I will pay for mine.

And we will take a cup of kindness yet
For times gone by.

I hope you had a great start to the year.  

It's certainly been a lively one for me thus far!

Looking Back

I found these on http://kvlv.tumblr.com/ and thought about answering them publicly.  I think I will, but I'll give you a chance to answer them, too.  I think it's neat to reflect back on things that have happened before jumping into the next year.  Why not?

1:What did you do in 2012 that you’d never done before?

2:Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

3:Did anyone close to you give birth?

4:Did anyone close to you die?

5:What countries did you visit?

6:What would you like to have in 2013 that you lacked in 2012

7:What dates from 2012 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?  

8:What was your biggest achievement of the year?

9:What was your biggest failure?

10:Did you suffer illness or injury?

11:What was the best thing you bought?

12:Whose behaviour merited celebration?

13:Whose behaviour made you appalled?

14:Where did most of your money go?

15:What did you get really, really, really excited about?

16:What song will always remind you of 2012?

17:Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? (c) richer or poorer?

18:What do you wish you’d done more of?

19:What do you wish you’d done less of?

20:How did you spend Christmas?

21:Did you fall in love in 2012?

22:What was your favourite TV program?

23:Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

24:What was the best book you read?

25:What was your greatest musical discovery?

26:What did you want and get?

27:What did you want and not get?

28:What was your favourite film of this year?

29:What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

30:How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2012?

31:What kept you sane?

32:Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

33:What political issue stirred you the most?

34:Who did you miss?

35:Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2012.

36:Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

...or not to baby

Joanna Goddard attached this hugely popular article about not having kids on her Cup of Jo blog the other day.  She attached a New York Times article about how the decision can be marred influenced (I'm not being glib, just trying to find the right word) by thoughts of finances, written by Nadia Taha.  

My favourite part of the article read, 

"Deciding whether to have children is so difficult because it requires evaluating benefits you simply cannot know or understand unless you experience them firsthand."

It seems quite simple, but is poignant: I can't possibly know if kids are for me until I have one.  And if I were (I were...see?  That's when it's appropriate) to have one, because I'm a woman with a heart (a big one at that...I have mega feelings), I would adore that child because...well, because I just would.

It's a sensitive subject, children.  

And though I love these munchkins more than I ever thought I could love children, I'm not quite convinced I'm ready, or will ever be ready, in all honesty, to have any of my own.  

It's true that I'm good with children (as good as one can be when you're not a parent, I guess...or a nanny).  My father used to call me the Baby Whisperer.  It's been awhile now since I've been around bebes, so I'm sure the touch has dwindled a little bit, but that loving maternal side certainly does come out when the smell of freshly washed baby wafts by, accompanied by a toothless grin.  Who can resist that?

It's an interesting debate that goes on in my head: to baby or not to baby.  

In a great recap of a past relationship with my mother (the recap was with her, not the relationship), she made it clear that I was making it unclear to men when I said, adamantly, "I don't want kids", because in actuality, there is still a part of me that wants children.  So in saying instead, "I'm open to all possibilities", I'm allowing more opportunities than someone who strictly says that they want or do not want children.  

My friends are divided: some want children; have children; are having children; are not quite sure what they want; are younger than me (hard to imagine, right?) and don't have child-bearing on their radars.  It's tough to compare myself to a social group who is so all over the place.  Thanks, guys ;)

What an interesting conversation to have on a first date.  I was quite flustered when Steven asked me about kids in a round-about way (trying to feel me out, no doubt) the first time we went out.  I was honest (a little flustered, but honest): 

"I'm open to all possibilities."  

I'm still going with that answer.

I'm...get ready for it...31 years old.  The time is nigh: the choice is not one that will biologically be mine for very much longer.  This plays on my mind a little bit.  That said, if it were to happen right now...that might be what I would consider a traumatic miraculous tumultuous life-changing oh f*ck it...it would be an event.  In the interim, I hope I find you open to all possibilities, too.  

xx 

   

Because I Decided

Image courtesy of Post Secret

Ah yes, there is nothing quite as amazing as positive manifestation.  Hope you're having a great day xx

Soulful Looks

 

If you can’t laugh together in bed, the chances are you are incompatible, anyway. I’d rather hear a girl laugh well than try to turn me on with long, silent, soulful, secret looks. If you can laugh with a woman, everything else falls into place.

 

Quote from Richard Burton, via Kvlev

More of this, please

Image courtesy of Kvelv

 Some nights I walk by a house whose lights are on inside, windows open, and everything inside looks perfect: food is cooking, work is being done, music is playing, stuff is sort of piled everywhere in an orderly sort of clutter.  I imagine that living in a place like that would be comforting, smell great, and be a pleasure to walk into. 

Tonight, my back blinds are flung open, windows (just) cracked open (as it is rather cold outside), dinner cooking, music like this is playing loudly, and I'm filled with a certain warmth that comes with feeling satisfied, desired, and on someone's mind.  I'll take it.  

In short, I live in that place I so coveted all those long walks in the night.