Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?
That line comes from one of the first stories I ever heard as a young girl. Today, it remains one of my favorite stories. It’s also nice to see that as a timeless classic, this particular story endures. It also must have been repeated so many times in modern classics, twenty-first century romance, literary and thrilling fiction tomes. The craving for attention and sometimes the vanity that is part of our human nature that goes with it helps add excitement, drama and suspense to the many stories that we read and watch.
Yes, we even watch our favorite stories. Many of you, like me sometimes, are just too darn tired on some days to spend even an hour of concentrated focus reading a good book. Instead, we fall to the temptations of our favorite couch, lean back or curl up, switch on the TV and watch whatever is an attraction to us. Many of you are fans of the daily soap. I almost typed out soup. Perhaps I was thinking of that more than soaps.
Although, I wouldn’t mind having a look around for some nice, aromatic and rose petal smelling soaps to spruce up my bathroom. I wouldn’t mind purchasing a few scented candles to get rid of the pongs in my small apartment. My bedroom window is open, so fresh air is wafting through it as I busily type out this post for you. I’m having a bit of a problem with my hearing lately, so can’t hear the birds tweeting outside.
I do hope to see some of them when I head out for a quick walk just now. This is something I simply must do. I’m feeling a bit stiff now and it is likely that I am going to be busy at my desk for most of this day. No complaints, mind you. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, right? It’s good that way. At least I can fend for myself. Work pays the rent and for all the other daily necessities.
Now, I must make provision for the doctor too. That’s life. I was thinking of soup just now. It’s a bright and sunny day where I am but there’s a cold chill coming along with the mist that seems to be heading our way from the Atlantic shoreline. Never mind that. It’s
Here is also a story about a love doctor.
Oh dear. For a moment my mind almost went blank. I almost forgot who this love doctor was. I’m going to tell you a short story about this famous doctor and another man who created him. Yes, Dr. Zhivago is not a real person. He is a work of fiction. Dr. Zhivago, to my mind, is one of the greatest (and most tragic) love stories ever told. This exceptional man’s love, by the way, stretches way beyond the love he felt for just one and two good women.
Those late night DJs who proclaim themselves as love doctors have nothing in comparison to this great protagonist. At the very least, they are pelting out agreeably melodious rhythm and blues classics for late night lovers. At their utmost worst, they are turning the latest hits which leave nothing to the imagination in regard to its base and suggestive lyrics. Now, I need to point out that I’m no prude.
I am just as liberal and open minded as the next modern woman, especially those who are independent and free-spirited. But come on ladies, where’s the creativity and skill in concocting such rubbish. A quick and easy scribble on the notepad has led to many a hip-hop artist and pop star producing a mega-million dollar hit. But every now and again, you get women who are very good with the creation of their lyrics.
You get girls like Enya and Adele. There are countless others. Joni Mitchell does not count. Her music breaks my heart. There are guys out there who know how to creatively produce good lyrics and imaginative and toe-tapping songs all about love. I’m not a Madonna fan. Boy, has she aged (un)well. Age catches you eventually. But more than twenty years ago she put out one decent record which I used to listen to over and over again.
It was called True Blue. One of the songs on that album was called Love Makes the World Go Round. While I was thinking about how to compose this post, I suddenly had that song in mind, after all these years. But I had been thinking a lot more about the great Russian poet, Boris Pasternak, and his timeless modern classic and love story, Dr Zhivago. I have the paperback version of this book on my shelf.
I am itching to begin reading it. I have a
Have I told you lately that I love you?
That song comes from the Irish folksinger, Van Morrison. I don’t know his music well at all but this is the one song that I can recall over and over again. Good music never dies. Most of you have listened to it over the years. Some of you will be Van Morrison fans. If you are from that generation, some of you will have been Jim Morrison fans. Not me. These days I just cannot stand music that depresses.
I don’t want to hear depressing lyrics about pain and worse. I contradict myself here slightly because I’m a big fan of Sylvia Plath’s poetry. I am slowly but surely getting into the meat and potatoes of her work and that of her great lover, the famous British poet laureate, Ted Hughes. I want to do a compare and contrast paper someday chronicling the endless cycle of words of love between these two famous lovers.
I contradict myself because many of the words that Sylvia wrote had to do with the pain that she felt and eventually, perhaps, led to her suicide. Every girl loves poetry surely. And did you know that good poetry does not need to rhyme at all. I found this difficult to do when I was just starting out, always trying to find words that rhymed, like Shakespeare and the many other famous poets that followed him did.
Good poetry, especially today, is just so metaphorical and it’s loaded with symbolism. It depicts the poet’s observations of life and the objects that surround her. It’s a great way to talk about love in not so many ways if you get my drift. The Old Testament Bible has a book called the Song of Songs. Perhaps those words are dated by now because it’s very tacky if you don’t mind me saying so.
But for amorous lovers, this is still perfect. I’d like to get my hands on the writings on the Prophet Muhammad – Peace be upon Him – someday. Yes, even he was known to have composed beautiful odes with love as its motif. Oh, and by the way, love makes the world go round. In spite of the mess created by the morons of the world, there’s still plenty of it to go round.
It’s usually creative people like you and me, and brave men and women of this world dishing out
Is this love – is this love – that I’m feeling?
I was feeling rather playful and humorous when I wrote the lines verbatim to the famous Bob Marley Reggae song. I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard this song on the radio but to me, it sounded as though this Reggae legend was very much in love. So, while I’ve never been a fan of his music and Reggae in general, I had to enter this number as one of my favorites for the day.
It’s a nice tune to hum to whenever you’re in the mood for love.
I went through a few bleak days, and today the sun is shining gloriously, giving us all a break to catch up on our outdoor chores and spend time outdoors, fortunate that it is the weekend, or was at the time of writing this post. I guess it’s up to our content manager, so I can’t be sure when this post is published and online. But my writing, I think, remains on cue, it does not matter what we are talking about, and can be read at any time of the day or month.
I have love in my veins.
Even though I am still feeling a bit tetchy about my week ahead. I should not be complaining. After all, I have much to do. It would be very worrying indeed if I had nothing to do, or chose just to lay about feeling sorry for myself and doing nothing. I’m not going to recall any religious verses, I’m quite sure that no matter the religion, they are all quite similar anyway. After all, we all believe in the same Maker, right.
Anyway, this feeling of fulfillment that quickly surpassed the worry over the week ahead reminds me of the old nursery rhyme about one Elsie Marley. Work it out, but her time was long, long before Bob Marley’s rise to fame. And, so by the way, Elsie and Bob are definitely not related. Marley was a real life visionary, many conservatives and fundamentalists say that he wasn’t so, but the Reggae poet and singer was actually quite a religious man.
Unless I am very much mistaken, it is fair to say that he basically put Reggae and Jamaica on the map. Today, apart from a few million devotees across the world, the music and its religion is pretty much forgotten. Today, when
What an awesome, marvelous song from one marvelous Marvin Gaye. Who remembers this man’s music? I never listened to him much in the past. I was more into Teddy Pendergrass and George Benson. I still get goose-bumps every time I here Mr. Pendergrass’s duet with the late Whitney Houston. Her music brings me to tears too sometimes. Who remembers her great covers of George Benson’s The Greatest Love?
And who remembers her cover of Country and Western singer Dolly Parton’s I Will Always Love You? Why Dolly Parton had to go and have all those nip and tucks done to her I shall never know. I think she was cute and cuddly just the way she was before. That reminds me of another beautiful love song by Billy Joel.
I Love you just the way you are.
Anyway, The Bodyguard wasn’t a really good film to my mind but if you have romantic notions like I do sometimes then you don’t mind feeling all warm and fuzzy inside whenever your dream bodyguard scoops you up and rescues you from trouble. Those who were fans of Whitney Houston’s music before must have been moved to tears when Kevin Costner delivered his moving tribute to his former partner in film.
I was anyway. Am I writing about love or what? I wanted to spend a bit more time on the subject of reading about love. Love is such a broad topic and it goes way, way beyond romantic love, doesn’t it. I had a girlfriend some years ago who made a confession to me. When she told me this story, she seemed quite embarrassed about it. After listening carefully to her late night reading habit, I asked her; what is there to be embarrassed about.
As a young girl in her late teens and early twenties, she used to stay in a very small apartment with her mom and a few other siblings. Young and restless then, I guess, she used to pull out her favorite Mills and Boons or Barbara Cartland paperbacks and get reading at her bedroom window with only the street light outside as her reading lamp.
So you were fixated on fantasizing about romance, I said to her. What’s there to be embarrassed about, I asked her. At least she was reading. That’s more important than anything else. It does not matter what you are reading, at least you are reading something. Even
I’m trying to empty my mind.
I more or less had such an opportunity. I’m not lying to you when I say this. It happened just moments ago. One of Faieza’s borders popped around for a cup of tea. And like most good neighbors in my neck of the woods, she brought me something to nibble while I explained the kind of work I do to her. She was curious. She’s not entirely desperate for work but at the moment, she’s quite literally on crutches.
And she’s been booked off on long sick leave until she is able to have a special operation that needs to repair her damaged hip sustained from a bad car accident a few months ago. She hobbles about on one crutch. But, boy, does she get around. She takes her daughter out for a walk every now and then with her crutch and her bad hip. Imagine how much worse off she would be if she just sat about idle, feeling sorry for herself and doing nothing much else.
Speaking about imagination, I couldn’t imagine how the heck she was able to get around. I mean, a damaged hip is quite a serious thing, isn’t it. But then I had to note that she got to my small front door with two parcels in each arm unaided. And where we are can’t always be considered a quiet and typical suburban neighborhood like the ones you used to see on that crazy TV show called Desperate Housewives.
Although there are desperate housewives here, but for different reasons.
Anyway, we were supposed to be chatting about an aesthetic love for exercise. Desperate housewives do an exercise of a different kind. Many of them don’t really have a choice. Hours spent on their feet every day sees to it that their homes are kept clean and tidy and their children and men are provided with a good supper or tea every evening.
Not everyone, mind you, is this lucky. Faieza has a large property. Some years ago, she lost her job but didn’t wait to create her own new stream of income. She and her husband sacrificed and sold their car and converted their garage into a mini-condo of sorts. They emptied two other rooms and turned these into what is called granny flats (apartments) in some parts of the English-speaking world.
Faeiza and her husband say they don’t always miss their car. They get
Be open and honest.
My personal experiences from the past showed me that this was not at all easy. Most of us can also just as easily say that, well actually, it is easy. Women in general by their very nature have next to no difficulty in sharing their thoughts and feelings with each other and the men in their lives. Men, on the other hand, have great difficulty in doing this. Those that do, however, remain a rare breed and are exceptional into the bargain.
My difficulty with this valuable human concept started when I was still quite young and trying to make my own way in the world. Now, even today and at the best of times, it remains a challenge for women to make their impressions on others in a male-dominated society. I don’t know how up to date you are with the news, but I recently picked up a snippet from Canada. It seems as though the liberal Canadian government are toying with the idea of identity cards which say nothing about our sex.
Yes, ID cards, it is suggested, will reveal nothing about whether we are male or female, or even otherwise as things turn out to be these days. I can imagine that this suggestion will turn out to be quite a hot potato. This reminds me, I’m boiling a pot of diced sweet potato on my stove. Hang on for a moment while I go and check how it’s doing. Long after I have left you with this post, I will be treating myself to a nice hot and spicy bowl of vegetable curry, prepared with organic soy mince.
I found the soy mince quite by accident today, so decided that, tonight, I’ll throw it into my pot. First though, I’ll be tossing in the other simple ingredients. I’m a poor girl at the moment so, sorry to disappoint you all, nothing extravagant or exotic is being added to the pot. I checked on the sweet potatoes earlier. They are nice and tender. It’s not recommended that you boil them before adding them to your curry pot.
But I’ve done this deliberately tonight. It’s to do with saving me time. Instead of allowing the ingredients to simmer for at least an hour, I’m doing things Southeast Asian style. Quick-quick as though you’re preparing a takeout for hungry, waiting customers. First in the pot goes the canola oil. While
Get in touch with your inner self by spending more time outdoors.
Does this not seem to be a bit strange to you? It was to me when I came across similar words to this effect. It did not seem to make much sense to me. But that was then. This is now. As I type up this post for you, I am already contemplating at least a quick, brisk walk around the neighborhood before it gets colder, darker and the rains return. Yesterday, even though there was some drizzle, I passed up a golden opportunity to visit one of the city’s botanical gardens.
I guess I was in far too much of a hurry to get on with the rest of the workday which, fortunately for me, was going to be fun anyway. But the walk through the gardens would have given me a bit of a boost or provided me with a little more introspection or serenity for my day. Where I am, within distance of public transport networks, functioning reasonably, there must be at least half a dozen such gardens.
The one I just referred to is probably the largest and the most accessible. And on the day in question, I walked around it instead of through it. How silly of me. Anyway, to walk or not to walk, that is the question. Yes, I think I will. I need this. And so do you, I am sure, even if you only have a few minutes to spare. Yes, I have quite a bit of blogging work to do throughout this day and the rest of the week, but surely twenty minutes or even as much as one wholesome hour will do the trick or give the heart and soul a huge boost?
I need this.
No doubt about it. The more I think about it, the more intense those pangs become. My body is a little stiff from an unusually poor night’s sleep. It needs to be refreshed and aired out a little. The winter weather being what it is, I’ll run some hot water in the kitchen sink and proceed to clean off those remaining dishes from last night and this morning. The water, bless it, will warm me up considerably.
Then I’ll pull on my boots and leather biker’s jacket – I call it my writer’s jacket, even though I never actually wear it during my writing sessions at my
How deep is your love?
Those were the first words that came to my mind tonight. I sat here in front of my cold laptop – it was begging for mercy, it was begging for warm words of love, or if such words could not be produced, it was begging to be shut down, because, baby its cold outside. You girls are better at this sort of thing than I am. You have an aptitude for this work. My patience gets tested too much and I’d much rather get on with the writing.
But, if I’m not mistaken, those last words, weren’t they once sung by the great songbird, Billy Holliday? Baby, its cold outside. In any case, those words have been immortalized, and by now, hundreds of covers must have been reproduced over the years. Those first words that came to me tonight come, of course from that lovely band of troopers from the sixties and the seventies, The Bee Gees.
Google a bit on the tragic life and loves on the great Billy Holliday. If any of you like authentic jazz then you are bound to like this sad song bird’s music. Perhaps some of you have listened to her records before? Perhaps not? I must be honest, I haven’t. Once I get my ears fixed, I wouldn’t mind spending more time with this lady. Yes, I have a problem with my ears. I’m almost as deaf as a doorknob.
Thankfully, this does not keep me from my work. It’s a blessing in disguise, actually. I can’t hear much, so things are very quiet for me. So I guess that way I’m able to concentrate on my work (and my blogging) a bit better. Thank goodness I am not as blind as a bat. What would happen to me then? This mini crisis of mine got me thinking about all of those who are disabled in a big way.
It got me thinking about how they have to get through each day with their handicaps. It got me thinking about how blessed most of us (including me) are in that we are still able bodied and can still do pretty much as we please. So, wouldn’t it be a good idea then to put our God-given talents to good use. Wouldn’t it be a good thing if we can all lend a hand where we can and help those who really can’t help
Faith can move mountains.
I’m not sure if many of you have been following the thread of my posts so far. That’s my fault, I guess. You see, I should count myself blessed because I’ve just had so much on my plate lately that I just haven’t been able to check on any messages or comments that may have been left by any of you. But, not to worry. If any of you are anxious to receive feedback from your own comments, let’s all hold thumbs.
It is hoped by this writer that the content manager of this blog has set in motion a program of action in which all comments will be responded to in good time. If this is not going to be the case, there’s no harm in asking her to do this for us. And if it still appears that there’s going to be no further action on any of your comments, again, do not despair. I mentioned already just how committed I must be to other personal and professional areas in my life, so cannot spare another moment more with you, apart from sending along the blog posts which I hope you have all enjoyed reading so far.
So, whenever there’s inaction somewhere, have a little heart and have a little faith. That special someone may be just as busy as you are right now. I am quite sure that many of you lead busy lives, possibly even a lot more busy than me sometimes. Many of you are mothers, and although I don’t have a family of my own, you needn’t tell me how busy the job of motherhood is.
Many of you, like me, have what we call extended families. For me, it was a long time coming, but I’ve opened my heart to new and strange people. Many of them are going through some tough times. And, do you know what, even though I spend just a few moments with them on occasional days, it doesn’t seem nearly enough. These folks don’t need hand-holding, in fact, such a notion is discouraged.
What they do need is a lot of encouragement and motivational nudges in the right direction. I’ve found that stern and harsh words don’t always help. It sometimes scares those who are weak to lose even more hope. But, yes, you are right, tough love does help in a lot of cases. I think it’s fair