DAY 590

in {and out} Week 25: Summer

Well, summer is here, so writing a post about it shouldn't be difficult. But summer is a hot season and lately this seems to drain all my creativity.

All I can do is thinking about when the weather will change. But amidst these negative thoughts (to be honest, the heat weave we are going through doesn't help) I see tiny glimpses of positivity, mainly related to how much I used to love summer.

As a girl, this was my favorite season and the time by the sea is (always will be) among my happiest memories. And also, the careless and relaxed days, the beach, the long afternoons that we were reading and chatting, the dip along with my mother when the sun was almost setting, the evening ice creams  and walks, the starry nights, the murmur of the waves, the moments of peace before going to bed... talking quietly in the terrace.

Thinking of all this makes me smile and makes me think how lucky I was regarding this issue. I lived in an isle, so those who didn't own a house by the sea could enjoy it anyway by going to spend the day there, but my mother decided that she would rent an apartment close to one of the best beaches of the isle in order to make it easier and it was simply fantastic. Sea was truly therapeutic to me along those years (still is), it always managed to heal all the things that could be painful: the disagreements or disappointments, the doubts about myself...  I only had to see its blue vastness and I felt relieved, liberated... and so happy.

I long for having a summer holidays like those I lived again. But I guess that they depended not only on opportunities or circumstances... they were also a state of mind.

And even so, how I would love to live one of those old days all over again at least one more time!.

Just one more time. 

This entry is part of a project I am developing with my friend Montse Gallardo. We'll share a photo every week during 2015. Her photos will be always taken outside and my photos will be indoor shots only. We have created a Facebook page: In and Out. 52 weeks where you can see all the photos of the project. 

DAY 588

in {and out} Week 23: Sweet

My mother loves candies. I remember her telling me countless times along my childhood: come on girl, let´s sweeten life a bit!. Back then sugar wasn't considered a poison and my mother enjoyed sweet foods without regrets (she still does). But I was not sweet-toothed, so this is not one of the pleasures we have shared.

Regardless of this, when I was taking this photo the last time I visited her, I got lost in memories related to this topic. This is not strange, I am still waiting to see my dear mom refusing a candy at least once. On the other hand, her love for chocolate is legendary and has generated many anecdotes throughout the years that are already part of our family story.

However, among those memories, I  also found some that are not related to her fondness for these treats, to the wonderful cups of hot chocolate she usually prepared or to the candies she made with melted sugar (which was beautifully brittle once cool), but are -even so- an inseparable part of my childhood.

I remembered her telling me: Look how beautiful!, while she was holding a simple piece of crystalline sugar. Look how precious!, while she was showing me the wrapper of a filled-chocolate. Look how charming!, while she was caressing a can of biscuits. Look how lovely!, while she was contemplating a box of fine chocolates... or a bottle of perfume or a embroidered handkerchief or a strawberry or the section of a mandarin orange or the petal of a flower or a piece of fabric.

Look!. What an amazing verb!. What an impressive advice and wonderful training!. I had never thought about it that way, I had never thought that it was a powerful lesson when indeed it was.

I don´t know exactly why this photo made me change my mind regarding this issue. Maybe it happened because early in the morning, after giving my mother the bag of striped candies, she placed one of them on her hand's palm, looked at me and said: Look, how pretty!...  and I realized that her simple gesture was the quintessence of beauty’s appreciation.


This entry is part of a project I am developing with my friend Montse Gallardo. We'll share a photo every week during 2015. Her photos will be always taken outside and my photos will be indoor shots only. We have created a Facebook page: In and Out. 52 weeks where you can see all the photos of the project. 

DAY 586

in {and out} Week 21: Abstract

The way that my photos and my texts mix together to create a consistent unit doesn't change very much every time I undertake this task but it never ceases to amaze me.

I often start with the capture of the image without a preconceived idea in mind about how the final result should be. I only prepare a scene (if I had to respond to this challenge) or let my eye leads me to what can be interesting or appealing and I play with the factors that are at my disposal. Even when I have to promote this mood consciously in the rest of my life, in this specific area it comes to me naturally… maybe because I feel in my element while creating.

Later on, the image suggests me a text that can be related to some recurrent themes or to something completely new. It can happens while I am taking the photo, along the post-processing or when I look at the final product, but I always can feel how a budding story line tries to emerge, how words that share a common thread come to my mind and I prepare myself to express it in writing.

All this process can be quick or can take more time depending on many aspects of it. This time, while I was shooting one picture after another, I was mainly concerned by emphasizing lines, shapes and colors rather than specific forms in order to create an abstract image. It was being a bit challenging but even so, while I was manipulating objects trying new compositions and new ways to focus the lens of the camera, a tiny, incipient, story started to develop.

Seashells were part of my childhood. Not only because I grew up by the sea, but because my father was an avid collector before my birth. In a given moment he got rid of his collections (I don't know exactly why) but there were some pieces at home and my mother preserved it after he passed away.

Looking at this image I can see the abstract creation that the challenge required and also, an abstraction of those early years because it somehow show how his passing (when I was only five years old) affected our lives and in particular, my life.

His death, all the unresolved issues that he left behind (that nobody, not even my mother, knew how to tackle at least not in a healthy way) and the resulting consequences, undermined many things inside me. It was not an immediate event, it happened gradually and insidiously. When I reached adult age I felt totally eroded inside regardless of what might be observed from outside. All the emptiness created by what I had to lose to survive, was filled with anger, and pain and fear.

I had to confront my past to take them outside and now I have all those charming nooks and hidden holes, all those odd angles and unexpected edges. I am learning to appreciate their beauty because it is the only way I have to move forward. 

I am learning to keep them clean, to let the wind and the light go through them, because I don't want them to be blocked again with the anger (or pain or fear) that still come to meet me when life becomes hard. 

I am learning to stay present and in the present, to stop revisiting the past and let go the “whys”, because there is nothing more to analyze, nothing more to be unraveled. 

In short, I am learning to focus on the things I have to complete, on the built-in issues that my story has: patience, tolerance, forgiveness, playfulness, dreams, acceptance… instead of on my need to make things better through demanding (and self-demanding) attitudes.


I am learning... 

I am just learning.


This entry is part of a project I am developing with my friend Montse Gallardo. We'll share a photo every week during 2015. Her photos will be always taken outside and my photos will be indoor shots only. We have created a Facebook page: In and Out. 52 weeks where you can see all the photos of the project. 

DAY 580

in {and out} Week 16: Spring Selfie

I´ve been wearing mostly black, since January. In fact, during all these months I have only worn black or grey sweaters with jeans or black leggings; black jackets and anoraks;  black high leg boots with high heels, flat short boots or ankle boots; black, ochre or grey scarves and black or tortoiseshell sunglasses. The only exception to this rule has been a coat with a subtle animal print, silvery or golden accessories and pearls. I´ve been doing that not only because I felt very sad after some important losses, a few unfortunate events and many changes, but because I needed to feel strong and confident and and black always makes me feel this way, it´s good for me.

I think this fixation has its origins in my early life. When I was a girl, black was not considered an adequate color for kids. It was too formal or too gloomy but I always found it appealing. It was the color of grief, it´s true: the image of persons dressed in mourning is part of my childhood -in particular, widows-, but it also symbolized sophistication, elegance, allure and even certain intellectualness and a rebellious mood (at least, to me). So, as soon I could, I started to wear it and I felt much more refined and worldly-wise than I really was.

As a result, this color is a sort of thermometer that allows me to measure my mood. When I am happy and in high spirits, when reaffirming myself is not important and my charm and grace don´t concern me, when I feel strong enough and self-reliant, when I deal with life at ease and I am accepting it with joy... in short when I am well-balanced,  most of my black clothes stay inside my wardrobes. But if the need arises, I know I can always resort to them.

This time I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop wearing them. Talking with my mother a month ago or so, I mentioned this to her and she guaranteed me that the joy would be back now and again, even after her time to leave me come (she said). Her argument was plain and convincing: not one person would have survived if this were not true. I knew she was right (she had to confront the death of her husband, her mother, a sister and a brother apart from many other emotional losses within five years), so I prepared myself to wait.

As my mother predicted, joy is returning to my life little by little this spring. And so calm and acceptance are doing. When a week ago, I was a bit reluctant to wear black, I knew that it was the definitive sign of readjustment I had been waiting for. I still don´t feel like wearing very spring-like outfits, I still need black to go out there... specially to work, but when I go for a relaxed walk or while I am quiet at home with my journals I choose vibrancy. I choose faith. I choose hope.


This entry is part of a project I am developing with my friend Montse Gallardo. We´ll share a photo every week during 2015. Her photos will be always taken outside and my photos will be indoor shots only. We have created a Facebook page: In and Out. 52 weeks where you can see all the photos of the project. 

DAY 579

in {and out} Week 15: Water

My mother always had quite a green thumb. Her skills at growing plants were mostly intuitive (or learnt from her ancestors) and it provided her much pleasure. As a result, I grew up seeing her enjoying this activity. We lived in an isle without much water and without gardens, neighbors grew their plants in pots and they placed them all over their houses including the patios that traditionally were full of them. 

One of the things I remember is the amazing variety of containers that one could find in a single place. There were the usual clay pots, often profusely (and even extravagantly) decorated and any kind of repurposed stuff depending on the imagination (and needs) of the owners.

I also remember the lush vegetation, the splash of green indoors -when outdoors all were black and brown and blue and white- that made everyone be deeply aware of the great importance of water.

And last but not least, I remember the liking for exchanging cuttings. My mother was very fond of this, she loved to gather pieces such roots, branches or leaves to start new plants and she kept her fondness even after our move to a bigger isle where we could buy plants, seeds, peat moss, fertilizer etc.

When I was I child this attitude often embarrassed me. When I was a teen it simply drove me crazy. No matter where we were, if she was seeing a plant that she wanted to have, my mother gently asked for a cutting, she took a spotless white handkerchief of her handbag (often with a tiny lace or a subtle embroidery) and wrapped the cutting with it while smiling. Regardless of my annoyance, back home I shared her enthusiasm and along the following days I contemplated amazed the growing roots through the glass of the mason jars where she usually placed them.

When I left my mom´s house and started to have my house, I was too involved in my own matters and my professional career to recognize the worth of all those experiences. I bought a plant from time to time and tried to do my best to keep it alive but I was not present enough to achieve that goal. As time passed, I stopped having plants at home.

This saddened my mother. She could not understand why they were not important to me, why being her daughter (coming from where I come from) I was not able to appreciate their beauty and master the use of water that was –according to her opinion- the only secret to growth healthy plants… but I can be very resistant, so I persevered in my refusal to have plants.

However, a year ago or so, I decided to give them a new chance. I only have a few, but I am seing how the knowledge, tricks and odd habits of my mother are emerging. Now I understand better that attention is important; I am learning to respect and thank water and not to take life for granted. I also love to collect cuttings (!) and I treat them as she used to do: I display them beautifully and I wait impatient to the first sign of something new.

And when this happens, I told it to my mother who still loves plants (although she cannot take care of them personally) and expect her almost unnoticeable sigh of joy when she gets ready to give me some wise advice. Then I close my eyes and feel her beautiful energy once again. 


This entry is part of a project I am developing with my friend Montse Gallardo. We´ll share a photo every week during 2015. Her photos will be always taken outside and my photos will be indoor shots only. We have created a Facebook page: In and Out. 52 weeks where you can see all the photos of the project. 

DAY 503

longing

The tide was turning and the boys were challenging the waves, dancing with the ebb and flow. They were excited as if no one were brave enough to do the same. They were proud of themselves as if they were the first to discover how to play with the coming and going of the sea.

They seemed to be undaunted. And fearless. And careless. And ingenuous (I have grown by the sea and one needs great doses of naivety and a pinch of courage to play that way).They seemed not to have one concern in this world and all the grace coming from that gift.

This made me feel certain yearning and I started to wonder -once again- how a safe childhood would be… the sort of childhood that allows a child to have a feeling of wild boldness and blind confidence.

I kept my walk, taking photos here and there while the sun was setting. The air became cooler and the sea was like a silver carpet. I kept my walk till the end of the promenade and went back to this same point where the rising tide had already covered the breakwater. The boys had vanished, but my heart still wanted to know.

Every time I think of my childhood I can glimpse some splashes of pure bliss and perceive genuine hope, but all my memories of that time come along with a trace of pain. My life, my studies and my work have taught me that such thing called safe childhood rarely exists, that my story is one among millions of similar stories and is not one of the worst, not at all.

In fact, every childhood is a fragile territory that can be ruined easily because we have to join up with a group that exists before us and has its own stories of transgenerational traumas and successes. An unknown territory where we arrive without maps and often becomes a labyrinth. A training territory where masters and tyrants are sometimes mixed up. And –to sum up- an old territory that will always be reinvented just because every child is a new, unique and unpredictable human being and this creates unexpected dynamics: some terrible, some unpleasant, some disturbing, some delightful and marvelous and gratifying.

I have got to know persons with all kinds of childhood experiences and I have come to understand that the most important thing is the way we choose to respond to those experiences and the personal determination not to be defined by them, no matter how they were.

So time ago I decided to learn from my childhood, to embrace this vulnerability and realized that I prefer showing it to pretending that it doesn´t exist. This made a great difference in my life. Indeed, I am quite sure that things I love more of myself and my existence today are here thanks to the way I have coped with my early experiences, thus, I don´t complain.

However, from time to time this sterile query finds me again. This crazy wish undermines my mood. This senseless thinking captures my mind. And I cannot help asking myself –once again- how a safe childhood would have been...


Cross-posted at Vision and Verb on Friday. Many other women share their passion for creativity and words there, please visit us, it is a wonderful site 

There you will find also a Card Shoppe. For every greeting card sold, the profit will accrue in allotments of $25 each to be given as loans to men and women around the world who are starting their own businesses. We have chosen the non-profit organization KIVA as the conduit for our giving back 

You can send a love note to a friend and make a difference in the world

DAY 365+124

lost in deceptions

The first of November I usually light candles all day long because I like to honor those who have already passed away.

I grew up in a society that approached death with braveness and also tragically. An important part of life revolved around that issue. Mourning was endless; widows wore always black; oil candles remained lighted in front of the portraits of deceased relatives in all the houses. And every single Sunday, families went to cemetery with fresh flowers, they cleaned the tombs, talked and cried a lot.

There was not a conversation during my childhood where dead ancestors were not present. I know so many names and anecdotes of persons that I have never met… but I love those fragment of my story and somehow I feel that they have helped me to define myself.

Little by little, while religious pressure decreased and society was modernized those customs started to give way to a more relaxed way of life, they commenced to be forgotten and now many persons -whose number is increasing- are starting to celebrate Halloween.

I don´t know why, but this last fact drives me crazy. As a person who works in the social field and has researched the communities’ development, I accept that culture is not fixed, on the contrary it´s changeable and this is not necessarily bad. In fact, one of the biggest capacities of a community is its ability for creating its own development style according to new realities considering them opportunities and not threats.

On the other hand, I can understand the attraction that can be aroused by the unknown, by what is different (the same way I can understand the fear), and I am aware of the unavoidable impact of this globalised world on our communities and on us.

However, when after lighting my candles, I leant out of my window and I saw a few boys in black with blood spurting out their eyes; a little witch wearing striped socks and a corpse with a knife going through her skull, screaming trick or treat, trick or treat!! (but in Spanish, of course) I became furious. I perceived the whole scene like a betrayal. I perceived it like a personal failure.

Even when it´s absolutely clear to me that societies reinvent themselves, cultures mutate, interbreeding and destruction are part of civilization this doesn´t diminish my unease. To tell you the truth, I expected a different future, maybe a different behavior.

I had imagined a mosaic made of different cultures that could evolve and create a thick weave made of a variety of threads. I had imagined a wonderful and creative diversity where the best of any culture could inspire something somehow cross-cultural. I had imagined a clever dialogue where every voice could represent the most sophisticated aspect of every culture. I had imagined that interaction would be able to refine and purify many of the roughest things that our culture passed on to us and would give us new perspectives.

But which could be our thread, our contribution, our voice... how could we interact consciously if we adopt uncritically new customs?. When I saw those children I only perceived acculturation.


Is this the only way we can move forward? I resist believing it.


Cross-posted at Vision and Verb on Friday. Many other women share their passion for creativity and words there, please visit us, it is a wonderful site 

There you will find also a Card Shoppe. For every greeting card sold, the profit will accrue in allotments of $25 each to be given as loans to men and women around the world who are starting their own businesses. We have chosen the non-profit organization KIVA as the conduit for our giving back 

You can send a love note to a friend and make a difference in the world

DAY 365+71

when life hurts

Sometimes, the only thing we can do is try to remember that light will shine again
try to hold this hope with our tired (and wounded) heart that wants to give up
try to trust life, even when it is unfair and violent, and makes us doubt about our own common sense
try to keep the faith in human beings (in ourselves) even when we feel betrayed
try to hold back our -often justified- anger and pray to be saved from our own fire
try to calm down and let go bitterness, ire, sadness and act as if life were not so confused and turbulent 


Sometimes, the only thing we can do is try to look for that little ounce of peace inside us 
try to cultivate joy, even when our mood is dark and acrimony is in the air 
try to stop resentment and forgive or at least, forget (or vice versa) 
try to counteract frustration with acceptance, disappointment with humbleness 
try to calm down and focus -once again- on life little gifts 


Sometimes, the only thing we can do is abandon expectations (even when deep inside we have always thought that we know what we want, what we deserve) 
and surrender to what is happening even when it hurts (more if it hurts) 
and renounce control and embrace acquiescence 
and bow down to reality again and again 


Sometimes, the only thing we can do is remember that buds will bloom someday again 
and trust that meanwhile, we´ll learn to appreciate the beauty of bare branches and fallen petals 


And we shall learn, no doubt, we´ll do it. Because this is a path meant to open our eyes. This is a path that will force us to get real. This is a path that will teach us how to deal with pain. This is a path that will unravel the beauty of simple days as they are 

...this is the path that is leading me to discover bliss amid chaos 

DAY 365+47

back there, where love still persists

These have been hectic weeks due to the beginning of the second semester of classes. Last weekend, I thought this one would be better but it wasn´t the case. I also thought I would write something about masks because we are celebrating carnival and I had planned to take some photos around the city. But this doesn´t happened, either. The only day I went outside with my camera, the weather was terrible, and I had the sense that the wind had taken with it the charm of this season. All what I saw seemed to me clumsy and lacking magic. Maybe I was to tired to appreciate it, maybe I am moving to a time of my life where I am more oriented to simplicity, I am not sure 

The thing is that yesterday evening, when I was coming back from work to home,  I found myself thinking that the week had flown by and mentally checking all the things I still had to do when I realized that it was the day when people usually celebrates love. And suddenly I become aware of some painful oversights. First, I had not any expectation about the day because I was to overwhelmed with work to plan something. Second, I had forgotten the anniversary of the passing away of my dear Malú, who died two years ago

This made a big impression on me. What kind of life is this, when I forget that love must be celebrated (even when that celebration may seem a marketing strategy) and the good friends must be honored? What kind of life am I living, when my busy schedule, complicated meetings and ridiculous arguments can still drain my energy and take away my joy and excitement, my devotion and beliefs?

Believe me, I love to teach but sometimes (and more often every passing day) the bureaucratic mechanism of the university leaves me open-mouthed... stunned. So yesterday night, after having an improvised dinner with my husband where we toasted to love and friendship, I decided that my duties would wait, because this weekend I would take time to write about the most complex - and stereotyped- topic ever. I would write about love in the widest sense of the word.

This will be tomorrow...

Today I only want to publish these photos of my sweet friend

There are no words good enough to describe the place she has in my heart, not only because all the years we shared (thirteen years, since she was a little kitten), but also because the last day of her life she gave me the most precious gift: the understanding of death as something that holds a kind of beauty and as a process that must be lived consciously

My sweet Malú is now resting in peace, she came back to the source of energy from where we all come, but she taught me a priceless lesson of generosity, and for this reason today I am glad I had the chance to meet her. Dear friend, you will never be forgotten


Favorite Photo Friday  Friendship Friday 

DAY 324

reinterpreting an old melody 

Every time I see an interesting window I ask myself what stories can it hide. The house is the space where the family´s play takes place, indeed, what we call home is deeply linked to our memories, and some well settled routines

When I was a girl I always dreamed about having a doll house, but I never got it (I am sure I didn´t even ask for it, so no complicated feelings about this). It was like a secret project that I developed privately, thinking of the moment that I would be able to have it. As I was a very imaginative girl, I started to realize some projects of my dreamed doll house. I made some rudimentary sketches and finally I came up with a way to represent the house in a more realistic way

I used two poster boards. I used one to draw the vertical projection of the front inner side of the house, where all the rooms were amazingly detailed. And the other poster board was used to draw the vertical projection of the front facade, with doors and windows that could be opened. And the I put the first poster board behind the other.  I expended countless hours with these projects and every house was related to a particular story that conditioned the decoration. I don´t know how many alternative lives were imagined by me, but I guess most of them were projections of my wishes for the future.

I remember asking myself: what if I change this or that detail of the house or of the story?  and how I started to re-create one depending on the changes on the other. I needed that sort of consistence so deeply...

I think that my love for finding out the existing links between psychological and real spaces, the influence of spaces on people´s mood and vice versa  comes from that age. This is now part of my field of interest as a researcher (thirty odd years later!). Indeed,  I´ve investigated a lot on the educative potential of certain contexts and about how certain ways to plan and decorate spaces can make us move in certain direction 

Public and private spaces can be a statement about who we are but also about who we want to be. If we live surrounded of things that remind us what we want to achieve and we design our house to make room for the life we are dreaming of (and not for the life we are trying to leave behind) we will get an awesome fresh impetus to our dreams. Just give a try, it works

PS. In case you´re wondering if I finally got my doll house, my answer is yes!. In fact, I am working on it at this moment. And according to my previous ideas, I have planned it as a decorative treat at my house that links me to my story, my gifts and the life I want to live. And remaining faithful to my origins, I have imagined a story that makes sense: it´s the house of a bohemian spiritual seeker

DAY 278

life is gentle

My mother used to say that to me, and the words came to my mind when I was taking this photo

She told me that when she was very young, every time she had a bad experience (she lived a war so you can imagine her youth was not that easy) she wished to be dead but afterwards, when situation returned to normal and she started a life as a young wife and mother, even when she had to face up very hard experiences, she never said this again: she was afraid her wish could come true, because along the years, regardless the hard times, she had discovered that life was gentle

I paid attention to this story as I always paid attention to my mom´s stories (yes, I was that kind of girl) but I didn´t really understood what she  wanted to say. But now, after dealing with complicated personal experiences, when I am facing a historic moment which -in my opinion- is actually the most challenging moment that my generation has had to live ever before, I am starting to feel what she felt

Looking back, I can see that my mother went through her complicated life successfully, keeping her good sense, thanks to the mentioned belief that in her case was deeply related to the enjoyment of simple things

Somehow, my own path has led me to confirm her statement and even when my process has been completely different as I´ve been consciously trying to heal my life, I think she sowed this good seed in my mind and it showed itself to be a good foundation

Now I usually say the same phrase that my mother taught me long ago, and when I say it, I really mean it

DAY274

owning my own power

Do you hear a low voice inside you that often seems to be right, wise and deeply connected to your heartfelt wishes and to those things that make you stronger, happier and at peace with yourself? I can hear it

Do you pay attention to it and follow its advices? I am learning to do it,  but I´ve been prone to ignore it.

I´m  afraid I´ve been quite unruly and arrogant, I needed to prove my own importance and abilities by obstructing its advances. I was firmly resolved to fulfill a certain idea of me which I had built up along the years in order to make up for my confused emotions and didn´t realize that I was living behind a mask

To be honest, the inertia of a whole life´s habit was big but the pain was even bigger and little by little I started to change. Even so,  it took me time to start to really listen to that whispering voice. I was on the alert for its words but I continued expressing doubts about them and I still wanted to be in control of the situation for a long time

I didn´t want to take notice of what it was saying because this could mean to make my real self visible. This could mean to flow with life as it is or make healthy decisions, and there was a part of me, the part of me that helped me to survive as a child, that wasn´t ready to run those  risks and was being supported by my ego (my need to be esteemed, flattered… my conceit)

Luckily, at a given moment, I realized  my healing process was being sabotaged because some parts of me didn´t want to slacken the reins, did want to preserve prominence and were keeping my inner clarity at a safe distance

This was a shocking find. I was trying to move on and I was developing a growing resistance inside me at the same time, so I experienced a sort of breakdown between thought, emotion and behavior. Then, one day I don´t know exactly why, I started to read about the shadow effect and it was like finding a  missing link in my inner process, the first of more to come

After acknowledging its influence and working on many aspects of this matter, many things started to align. I´ve needed a few collapses, challenges and conflicts more, to be able to empower myself , let go what no longer serves me and to surrender to this tiny voice, but now I bow down to its wisdom

…And I seem to be "deaf" less and less

DAY 254

embodiment of summer

It´s time to photo-heart connection and this is my june´s contribution. This is not the best photo I have taken past month, yet one which is quite evocative and closes to my heart maybe because it gives a tangible form to what I love of summers: sharp light that creates interesting shadows, vibrant colors and  fresh rooms where protect ourselves from relentless sun; the opportunity of staying at home with windows wide open and nothing to do except reading, creating, experimenting with a cold drink aside... calmed mood, no timetable or goals and the feeling that days are too long:  relaxed manners, simple routines and time enough to attempt new (and sometimes arduous) things without being in a rush or even time enough to get bored, what a sublime pleasure!

When I was a teenager, I had this sort of summers and I loved them although a time came that I looked for something more challenging, intriguing, sophisticated or interesting... I wanted to fly away and didn’t want to live like my mother did

I didn´t know that this moment would pass and wouldn´t come back, not only because the society and our style of life was meant to change dramatically but because enjoying it requires a kind of naivety that we have usually left along the path...

I didn´t know that one day I would be dreaming of those childish summers, longing for that candid attitude, my frank and credulous heart, my unrefined, yet nice, life and my limpid gaze...

I didn´t know that I would want to feel that way one more time as a way to make it up with the person I was and to recover some of my own personality...

I didn´t know that time could be so important...

And I couldn´t even imagine, that I would be writing about them thirty five years later and trying to live by their spirit. But here I am

Of course, there were lots of underlying circumstances that were not so easy to deal with, but those simple-minded summers existed and were fantastic

DAY 245

the path of memory

This coffee pot belonged to my mother, it´s a present from my father when they married, it´s the only piece remaining of a whole set and it doesn´t have even its lid. The cups and plates were broken very soon not only because they were used very often, but also because one time my mother left them in a house my family had by the sea after the summer, and when she came back most of the pieces were broken after a party hosted by my father´s brother. She told me that she even find some cups outside the house, near the rocks and the sand

She took the coffee pot with her and she kept it for more than sixty years. Of course, she couldn´t use it, but she wanted to have it anyway, because it reminded her that stage of her life, with its ups and downs, its sour and sweet memories

In fact, this simple piece of crockery is linked to lots of memories and have allowed my mother to outline years that I hadn´t lived because I am the youngest child. By listening my mother, that time became  a part of my life, not as old stories, but as real experiences. I know that this can sound strange: this was my mother´s youth and the childhood of my siblings, not mine, I didn´t live those years because I am much younger than those who indeed lived them, but regardless how foolish it can sound, I internalized them as my own memories, and believe me or not, they left a lasting impression on my psyche

Maybe this happened at the very beginning because I needed childish references when I was a child, my father was dying and everything around moved me to grow fast, and my siblings’ stories about their childhood (often too sweetened) were as good as any other. And later on, because I needed justification for why my young life seemed to go adrift and somehow I had to have the life of an adult

Anyway, when I started this healing journey I had to heal those memories which were stuffed with lies, secrets, misunderstandings and resentment that couldn´t be mine, apart from love, laughs, fun and hopes that were not mine, either (I know...)

A few months ago I asked my mother for this coffee pot

She was a bit amazed because she thinks it´s something too old and ordinary. But I have always loved it and it holds a deep symbolic meaning at this moment of my life. It still triggers lots of memories, but now I can tell the difference between memories of other persons and my own memories which are about the afternoons I spent listening, sharing, dreaming, enjoying, feeling and trying to figure out the meaning of the events... and in any case, I can look at them without anger

Hopefully, I could treasure it at least forty years more


favourite photo monday: symbol

DAY 243

the afternoon snack

was a daily routine throughout my childhood years. When I was a child,

every time I came back home from school my mother was waiting for me with my afternoon snack prepared. It could be just a tiny bread with an ounce of chocolate and half glass of milk; a sandwich, some biscuits or a piece of cake and my milk with a dash of coffee; a piece of fruit or even a French toast, it depended on the day but I never came home and didn´t find my afternoon snack served on the kitchen table

No matter how chaotic our lives could be, my mother was there, day after day trying to create room for peace and happy memories with her pretty plates and lovely tablecloths

Of course, this is supposed to be what a mother have to do, and this is what every child expects, but life can be complicated and now I understand that the caring attitude of my mother made a great difference in my life. Amid all the confusion created by my early experiences, it was a permanent point of reference that added some emotional stability which worked as a sort of counterweight and gave me balance

Even during my worst moments, when I wasn´t understanding at all the purpose of the life I was living and why I had to live it, or when I started to acknowledged the deep impact that my life was having on me and I decided to mend it or later on, when I put myself in a new place inside my family and I began this healing journey, till today, my mother´s love has been beyond all doubt

Maybe, because she was there those afternoon, awaiting, folding a serviette, ready to listen... because she was brave enough, strong enough, to stay



this photo is part of the 52 weeks project I am sharing with this group, the theme of this week is "white"

DAY 211

cherished memories

"I was taught from childhood of the sanctity of food. Not a piece of bread could be thrown away without kissing it and raising it to one's eyes as with all things holy"

Attia Hosain

My mother taught me this too and my husband´s mother taught him the same, so we still kiss our bread before thrown it away

I appreciate very much this teaching that holds a whole philosophy of life and a particular conception of the world which is focused on the sacred importance of everyday things

This simple gesture (full of an amazing innocence and an almost lost wisdom) is, moreover, a way to stay connected to gratitude, kindness and respect