Character, Tastes and Colors

I am convinced that Indian exquisite garment -sari- is not for me, such a foreigner. It proves that one has to possess a patient, non-resisting character, which the Indian garment requires for its care. It is a piece of cake to wash it, but it is tricky to dry it on a line (unless one just drops it down from a wall to hang) and it certainly time consuming to iron it. I love watching Indian women wearing this fine piece of clothe, but for now, I personally reserve to wearing pants and shirts, and western style dresses.

On the wings of the wind

I could feel the wind catch my heart cry and carry it away, as if towards God. I stood there, under the old weeping-willow, and sensed I was not alone any longer.

The rain drops fell on the ground and I had to run off, but with my heart expectant this time.

Indulging

Eating plenty of water melons and strawberries is not a sin.

I miss you two

Even today as I think about both of you, a sad sigh comes out from the depth of my heart.

May PEACE rest on your mountains, Kyrgyzstan! May the joy flood in the valley! May God keep you, my land!

Life is good when there are no power cuts.

titles

My husband calls me a grandma when I start 'micro-managing'.

Sweets

Even Raffaello cannot compare with the lovingly tender touch of a mother.

Celebrate

The orange fire ball of sun is rolling behind the cloud curtain and I love the smell of the purple chrysanthemum in my kitchen! It is a good day today!

It is the Spring, the Life, the holiday itself.

Happy Women's Day ladies!

Leave it

Let's keep it as it is. Now.

Like the river that froze under the layer of ice, let us leave all that we had and built through the years, in trust.

Let us not make things what they have not been, no need to colour leafs once they have fallen.

Let me keep the memory of those good old days, where it all was simple and true.

Let us not give life to words that might hurt of things that no longer matter, we each have our way to go, our life to live.

Nothing will take away thankfulness for the things that you have given, for the things you have taught, for the time you have invested, for the faith you had and shared, for the kindness you showed, for the patience ...

I don't hold you or anything against you. You are free. I know you are in good hands and it makes me happy.

Stolen Cherries

One of my favorite months of the year has always been May. I loved it in childhood because in mid May we finished school year and the long awaited summer holidays started. I loved May because of its still fresh pleasant weather with the warm rain, with the green grass and trees in white and pink bloom. I loved May because of the first home grown roses and strawberries for my birthday. I loved May because it was the start of my mischievous summer adventures.

Denis, Sasha and I planned our night raids. We associated for a season because we trusted each other – we trusted the secret, the fast feet and ability to run, and finally ,that we would cover for each other.

Ten houses down the road, our neighbors had a cherry garden with few other fruit trees. We invaded their garden because the cherry tree was fast to ripe, before the market was flooded with the fruit, their apricots were sweetest in the whole of the neighborhood and we knew that if caught they would forgive us, because after all – we were neighbors. And so we went, two boys and me – under the moon light we climb the trees and pluck the cherries, stuffing our pockets and filling our plastic bags. I still remember my dress pockets wet and colored. Soon the dog starts barking as we giggle and whisper to each other. Of course, the neighbor has to come out to check on the dog and the garden.

The lights come up and my heart beats fast as I consider whether to run or stay and hold my breath and cherries. In a moment I decide that I can jump off the tree, and I do. I ran as fast as I can, catching up with the boys and hear the swearing of our neighbor and the dog chasing after me. We make it safe and hide in the lilac bush and sit there for a while, trying to catch on our breath and giggling like crazy. I get overwhelmed with shame; my cheeks turn red and burning. As everything becomes calm and the lights go off we go to the water pump and wash the cherry to later enjoy it on the bench. It is way late after nine, and I know it is my time to return home; in a hurry I eat a bunch of cherries and the rest I give to Denis, because I liked him and he was rather a brother to me.

Certainly no one knew about the event but three of us, a couple dogs and our neighbor.

It was later that I confessed to my mother that I had been robbing the cherries. She was kind enough not to punish me, but she was also honest and carrying enough to instruct me. And I – I was committed to mischief. I only dreaded the dogs chasing after me.

Not everything is my business

In some matters of life I choose to be ignorant.

It's a pity

It was not easy to give up the relationship, because it took years to build it,
but given the state of affairs, it seemed better not to hold to it tight.

There is no wisdom without humility, and humility comes with brokenness, if we allow.

The Last Flower Walk

The road was blocked with the people - most were the guests and relatives with the sullen faces, who threw the flowers on the ground and directed the traffic. Others were people from the street, strangers, gapers, shopkeepers and residents like me, who came up close to the road to say the farewell to a stranger. I even don't know if it was a man, a youth, or a mother.

India is a very colorfull, many-sided, a country of contrasts, cheer, sounds and smells.
If it is not a Hindu festival, a marked Muslim holiday or a wedding, or a religious procession, most likely it is a funeral with the firecrackers, shouts, drums and a trumpet.
In the noise of the street full of buses, honking auto-rickshaws, bikes and cars, shouting man and drums - my heart found a very short moment of silence, where I pondered on the life and death.

We, as a human race, may represent different political views, religious beliefs and practices, may have very opposite perspectives on life and how things should work - but these two- life and death - are the two constants that will always keep us so similar, and so human.
This diseased stranger was carried on a truck, completely covered with hundreds of flowers, with a toll flower frame over the body, that touched the electric wires on the streets and became the cause of the traffic jam.

I don't know the story of the stranger, nor the cause of his death, but I said good-bye for his last walk on this earth.

I turned back to return to the yard of our Petra Park residence. Life kept going. The gardener worked on his lawns. The guard watched the gate. Kids were running. I was sure that very moment a new child was born into the world. I prayed and walked with my baby, holding him tight to my chest. I will long remember the strong aroma of the flowers that surrounded the 'dead life' and I wished that my life was marked with goodness; goodness towards others, understanding and forgiveness.