What did she want after all?

Breakfast.











She took him in.
A decision based on the way of his smell.
It was a scent she had never known in a man. Clean, but not from soap. The scent of his sweat staying buried in his dark armpits, irrupting from the depth of his movements surprisingly sharp yet enticing, pure, clean, innocent - of him.
It made her go back to a time when she played doctor with the boy next door.
Of hidden places in the back yard, the musty smell of wet earth in places that remain shaded. Could he be that boy ?
With him, she sensed his awareness to the warmth that almost attacked him as soon as he entered.
Hers was a shrine of personal collections, soft and rough in a contour of throbs that came and went.
Watching the moment form outside herself she felt that overwhelming wave that seemed to begin in her inner muscles and spread out in circular motions all the way to her heart.
The slightest of touch was enough to transport her into his existence, 180 degrees from her own. It made made for another wave of circular muscle emotion wash over her.
His, being unaware of anything besides the focused physicality of the flesh.
Completely engulfed in the totality of the now.
Always watchful she had grown old with herself, time and time again. Bored with her inability to participate.
He was in her protectiveness now.
All hers to keep warm and safe from the hurtful world - of course, that was her job.
She couldn't help thinking it, feeling it, as hard as she tried to resist, the maternal instinct.
Close to her breast she was too aware of her nipples contracting hard enough to hurt.
She couldn't suppress the thought of milk, of holding a baby boy, this warmth - unearthing a connection despite what should be an alienating difference. This, which sucked the marrow out of her woman's soul time and time again.
This knowing, that came with cradling an entity so different from her own - a man's.
She touched the taut soft skin of his arms, shoulders, back, his movement inside of her so determined, guided by a force beyond them, unstoppable, programmed sometime so long before now.
His face buried in that place between her shoulder and neck. The scent of his hair taking her to the balcony of her youth, to that hot summer night with the blossom of the plum tree mingling with the the new scents of a night after which everything would change forever.
A young girl yearnings for the love in a life ahead of her not knowing that the seeds of change had been planted already. From withing this watchful observation she was almost there again, experiencing her young self, allowed a precious peek into her long forgotten innocence, what it felt like to be untouched by the maligning nagging of a more experienced self. A self that never turns off, a constant noise that cannot be shut down. Why was it that she needed to be outside of herself to be inside of herself?
He would never bother to be so interested in going back into past moments. No, how pathetic, what purpose would that serve?
But she wanted him to look into her eyes right now, if only for a moment. It was she living this moment, even it was a repeating moment in time.
If he did, , , , had he looked in her eyes - the moment would freeze.
The scents, the memories would crack like icicles.
Would fall off and pierce her heart.
She wouldn't like it.
She would avert her eyes and turn cold.
She would die.


So what did she want?

Meditation, last night's dinner and some late night sex.

I
just go there







Because I live in a one bedroom apartment with two kids and my beloved the bathroom is my designated office/sanctuary..
Still, I wake up every morning no later than 5:30 (before the little ones) and hope with all my heart that they will not awake before my 45 minute meditation is over.
I brush my teeth and bowl cleanse. I then seat myself cross legged with my back to the tub, and place my palms in my chosen mudra position on my knees.
I take a deep breath and I'm already sinking into a place of peace, self forgiveness and acceptance.
I take 9 more full lung filling breaths and breath out fully through my nose.
After than I start another kind of breath: I breath out forcefully tightening my lower abdomen while allowing it to expand back naturally. I do this for 10 minutes all the while envisioning all physical and spirit poisons forced out of my body making room for pure warming light to fill the gaps left by their exit.
I proceed to do deep expulsion breaths, - I breath in deep and blow air out for the length of a minute, at the end of each breath my tummy feels (and looks) sucked all the way to my back and I remain with it completely depleted of air for as long as I can. This particular kind of breath leaves my feeling absolutely cleansed and emptied of all lurking inner enemies, physical and spiritual alike.
I then will do 10 Om breaths, breathing out to the sound of my own voice and keeping it as long as I can (at least one minute). This kind of breathing always makes me feel (at least while I'm doing it) connected to the universe and being part of something beyond myself.
After this, I use my right hand to close right nostril with my thumb and use third and forth fingers to alternately close the left, I do this for 10 minutes while focusing on the light and on having good intentions for the day with forgiveness and patience especially toward my Georgia and Wilder with whom I spend every waking minute and often lose it.
After focusing on all this goodness and light I sit surrounded by a feeling inner peace (which I know won't last long, by I relish it) and allow myself to breath naturally for a while.
When I feel ready to let go of this place (which is hard) I snap my fingers and open my eyes charged with inner power and motivation I footsteps and someone (Georgia, Wilder?) is at the bathroom door already. I unfold my numb legs and emerge to face my day prepared and brave.
It doesn't take away my tendency toward unpredicted outbursts when I've had it up to . . . and I lose it. But over time (a long time) I am gaining a sense of understanding, acceptance and a newly acquired ability to loosen up and let go, which I know I never possessed before. It's an ongoing process though - God isn't everything. . . .

And for desert Grape fruit yogurt cake from smitten kitchen which also inspired the Pizza (with Mario Batalli's dough which I did not love even with Smitten's adaptations, but I blame myself, because I used whole wheat flour rather than regular, I always stubbornly make changes, I just have to - so annoying I am).
This cake is what happened directly after I announced (on the post before this one) that I'm ready to make Olive Oil muffins.
It's another law in life for me - whatever I plan and absolutely intend to do never happens.
I should learn to count on this law and anticipate the forthcoming failure to launch, but somehow I am always freshly surprised.
As Georgia likes to say, whenever we get sarcastic and and give her silly answers:
"I'm not gullible!" Yes you are!













as for lat night sex, I know I haven't been reporting about it as dutifully as was my intention when I started this blog, but as you may imagine that's because there wasn't that much to report.
Yes, I have to admit I have sunk into a period (almost two weeks) where I just wanted very little to do with any of it. And as much as I thought I was just going to conquer all that by simply "doing" the "easier said than done" law has proven me wrong yet again.
But to cut a long story short, last night we had some wild bathroom sex that made for a good angel sleep.
To be fair, I will also admit to my nonexistent readers that during these past two weeks some very real, yet unreported issues encroached grossly on my already naturally frowning disposition. These "issues" contributed to my mood dips during this period of abstinence, really, not just hormones - the ever blamable cause for everything feminine (and I resent this vehemently!)
But life goes on, and sex is part of it when you have a partner. So I'm feeling better today and hoping to have much more "betterness" to report at least in the near future as I can't account for much further (-:

The colors of her world

I wait to see the picture she posts.
The big green tea cup with honey and milk
and that whole grain bread with what I imagine to be butter, jam and a slice of good stinking cheese.
Oh I am hungry, always hungry, always craving, somebody else's toast and tea.
An imagined inner calmness which I can never find.
The knowledge of being, of being at peace within.
She only writes a few sentences that speak of design and simple day tasks, nothing much, really, nothing to expose the innards, yet she has the talent to convey so much in a simple picture.
Not all of them, I have no patience for pictures of view, of white winters somewhere far from here, Nature's beauty bores me to tears. But when she posts a cup of tea and the little bag of Finish cookies beside it on her simple table in her simple tasteful home, I just want to die in peace.
There is not simplicity in my life, even though I too live in simple home and I too love my simple home. Every corner in my little home captures so much beauty I could ever ask for more in my daily picture.
But my home is not mine, and my life is apt to change. At any give moment i expect the rug of stability to be pulled from under my feet and everything I have called my life will change abruptly.
That's how it is for me. And for a homebody Torus that 's enough to shake every cell of security I don't posses even before it ever actually happens.
I am in a place of extreme financial duress, everything we have done and worked so hard for has brought this family to this place.
And looking at the path we have chosen, although unconventional and stubborn, no doubt, I have to admit that some lives are simply not blessed with luck in certain respects, period.
Money never came my way, no matter what I did. It apparently was to be my curse.
So now I brace myself, trying to adjust my brain to the make friends with the change and instability that is about to befall my way. Me, a mother of two who will have to some how feed and bed two children who holey depend on my for their every breath.
Really it is due to the light in the cold land where she lives. It is the light which allows for that sombre yet alluring flavor, a hue, a glow.
I know it, still, even though I don't really want to live there, to me it is so delicious.
It is raining to day. very befitting of my gloomy mood, but we will be alright, I know it.
Somewhere along the way luck will finally find us, there is enough out there and I only ask for a little.
But in the meantime it's time to make those Olive Oil muffins (a recipe I've been dying to make for a while now). I can see the picture I'm gonna take already, of one half bitten muffin with crumbs on the plate and a big mug of green tea with honey and milk on the side. I will describe the sweet savory flavor meticulously. I promise. :-).

How was it for her?
Feeling trapped, mid forties,
3 children with a man she now found, but probably never admitted to herself, she could not stand for the most part.
When she had not a moment to herself.
During the evenings at home when everybody was driving her mad and while she was doing her endless evening mother chores her husband (who had no doubt worked all day and earned it) was sprawled on the living room couch snoring in front of the TV.
Sure he worked hard, but for her it never ended and she never got to have the "say" on what would or would not be done in her life unless by sly careful, cunning, manipulation.
How did she survive the claustrophobia?
Where did she go for solace?
But then again, she was not much of thinker,
did not have much expectation of life, and those that she did have she pretty much accomplished. Simple enough: A nice home, normal children which she considered beautiful,
a husband who compared to all the fat mediocre other men her friends and neighbors were married to seemed handsome, successful, talented, with a shining career which kept him out of the beautiful home for the better part of the day to boot.
Those were her hours of independence, her time when the kids were in school and he was at work.
She worked too, she worked hard, but it was her freedom time still.
Compliments earned from low men she came across in the markets and shops,
thinking that she was beautiful and cheating time while no one could ever guess she had 3 children no less.
She flourished like that, from those vapid complements, and times when she thought she was different from the rest of them, all of them - life.
She never seemed bored though, she did manage to keep herself stimulated while living in all that oppression.

I watch you, not give up, endless patience. Taking on a project and not letting go for days and nights at at time.
Teaching our daughter to sing, when she clearly is uninterested and doing her best to be done with it and go watch TV. It drives me crazy, I can't listen to the voices, to the effort, to the noise,
I admire you, but I want to scream, I want to scream because I could never do it,
I want to scream because you are driving me crazy and I don't want to be here.
I want to scream because I am not a good enough mother and I never will be.
Because I have no patience and I'm so bored with my life, with being me..
I am bored, but there's nothing I find my heart gravitating toward.
My confidence is squashed to zero and that's because you are the doer and I am the nincompoop.
Because between the two of us I have worked hard to earn this title and now it's too much effort to prove you or myself wrong and become a doer, a writer, an interested and interesting human being.
I have reached a point, a midlife crisis, where my life is nothing, nothing I ever dreamed it would be.
Where my disappointment and disillusionment is so so so I don't know where I could ever turn for a new beginning, I am clueless bored.
Why bored? because I find myself incapable of being, of doing, of having any trust in myself.
I am a shackled prisoner in my own body and soul which I despise.
The best line to describe my thinking at any given moment is "I just want to be left alone!!!!!"
Yes, I know, I am describing a depressed state of mind, I need help, pills possibly?????
But I am a loner at heart, the sort of person who would never turns outwardly for advice or help, and devout autodidact.
If I don't do it myself I won't do it at all.
And you see, there is something, somebody in here, that wants to climb out, because I am writing this.
meditation.

Haiti - a candle

To Haiti,

A candle.

My funny Valentine.

Coming back from the market.
I love vegetables and fruits, love to shop and come home with bags full and wash and prepare for use in my own bags.
Fridge stocked up with all that I'm going to cook - yum,





And that heart thing - y ???
That's Valentine
Her day is coming up you know.
Now don't be quick to judge a book. . . , she's very sensitive as she's all heart.

Down in Little Tokyo.
A favorite restaurant of ours in little Japan is a simple unpretentious dive that serves up a mix of Japanese and Chinese favorite dishes.
We ordered Pork Ramen a beef chow main with vegetables and a side dish of vegetable Gyoza.

It's been a rough start of new year.
My new cell phone fell into the washing machine and died.
And all the prototype designs we were waiting on were delayed for what seemed like forever.
Nothing had began with the New Year and again we scrambled for rent.
But going out to eat in another world of food and culture made me feel new to myself and forget about my troubles completely (almost).
Finally today some of our designs arrived and they look so pretty that I got my hopes all up and going once again.
It amazes me how just what goes on in your head can make one day sunny and the other hopeless and gray. But then again, I even love gray days, so it's truly all how you look at it, right?



When we got home I made dessert,
I had made Olive Oil Yogurt cake the day before and now I added a quickly whipped a sauce from frozen blueberries and sour cream - delicious.














I'm determined to keep it sweet.
So what if things did not start at all gloriously,
They could still turn around and this will prove to be a good year after all, right? Right.