Friday, September 16, 2011

La serenata nocturna de Catsido Domingo (Catsido Domingo's night serenade)






SPRINGTIME HAS ARRIVED AT LAST AND ...





Here comes trouble ...


his name is Silvio


Purr-Lusconi


and he is courting Sandy


















I am not sure how to explain this story without losing face or credibility.  Life is so full of dramas and melodramas that one should be used to it but I am embarrased in thinking that I allowed myself to be involved in a 'Cats Soap Opera'.

This episode started the night Gonçalo, back from his holidays, took Freddy home. He and Sandy had been rather aloof with each other during Freddy's stay with us so it was time to go home. A period of separation might soothe troubled waters, or make the heart grow fonder, as they say.

That night, around midnight, I was awoken by a strange noise coming from the front of the house. I went to have a look and I was surprised that Sandy was on the windowsill very quiet, listening.  I had to rub my eyes twice: was Silvio Purr-lusconi in purrson, serenading Sandy?

Yes, he was. He ran away as soon as he saw me. Sandy looked at me she was so pissed off at my disruption but I ignored her, I went back to bed and fell asleep at once.

I was awoken again a little later alas, by the same noise! He had a nerve that cat! I would show him this time!

I rushed to the kitchen looking for something to throw at him; a sharp knife was tempting but I disregarded the idea, too tricky; I then grabbed the flour pot, took the lid off and ran to the front door.  I was faster than him, I threw the flour on Purr-Lusconi who took off at once leaving behind a dusty white trail (like a disgruntled Hansel running away from Gretel).

I wished a Harley Davidson or a Hummer would flatten him to the ground when crossing the road (he lives just opposite us) but, fat chance, no traffic in the small hours of the night.

I so dislike the cat: he has terrible a reputation among the cat owners in the neighbourhood. He is a bully with the boy cats and a pathetic Don Juan with girl cats. I will not bore you with his story, just take my word. Besides being too old for this kind of behaviour, he is not in good health: he is seriously overweight, breathes heavily when he walks or rather when he swings, like a crocodile. There is also something creepy in his looks, he's tried to make eye contact more than once and this is definitely too daring for a cat. I believe he is a bad sort and I will not allow him to go near Sandy, it is that simple.

Unfortunately, my 'icing of the cat' didn't go unnoticed.

The next morning I found broken eggs at my doorstep, a dozen, if not more. There was also sugar spilled over last night's flour. This mess was attracting all the ants and insects from the vicinity. I saw an envelope under the mat, it had this message written in red ink: THE UGLY, THE FAT AND THE OLD ALSO EXIST, BITCH. NOW BAKE A CAKE WITH THIS IF YOU CAN.

I was flabbergasted. I put the envelope quickly in my pocket and went inside. When I was closing the door I saw Purr-Lusconi looking at me from top of the driveway giving me an evil look. I didn't go out the whole day.


Matilda




Hola amigos y amigas:

Lio, lio, lio ,lio lio grande ...

Es de sobras conocido que los asuntos del coraz♥n son complicados y a menudo pueden provocar situaciones imprevisibles e implicar a personas totalmente ajenas al caso. Hay una expresion en español que describe a la perfección la situación en la que ahora me encuentro: jugar con fuego.

Se dice: "quien juega con fuego al final se quema" o como advertencia: "no juegues con fuego que te quemarás"

Pues yo he jugado con fuego y ... Matilda se ha quemado. En el microcosmos que es nuestro vecindario tengo la sensación de haber provocado una pequeña guerra civil.

¿Me gusta Purr-Lusconi? ¡Claro que no! ¿A quién le gusta Silvio Purr-lusconi? A nadie. Y sin embargo fui a verle la misma tarde en que Freddy se marchó a casa; Silvio no perdió el tiempo, al anochecer vino a cantarme una serenata con la intención de conquistarme, creo yo.

Yo todavía amo a Freddy G. Desde hace algunas semanas, está serio, inerte, impasible, descolorido, desganado, ni me mira y apenas me habla. Así que para hacerlo reaccionar puse en marcha una estrategia milenaria: 'darle celos'.

¿En qué estaría yo pensando?

La cosa me ha salido fatal.  Fatal, fatal, fatal. ¿Cómo prever la inesperada reacción de Matilda de espolvorear a Purr-Lusconi con harina?¿Y que los vecinos le escribirían una nota anónima sumamente insultante? No lo preveí, ésa es la realidad.  No se me ocurrió que una innocente serenata pudiera terminar tan mal. 

Matilda se asustó, no tanto por la porquería que se encontró delante de casa sino por el insulto.  La llamaron: 'perra' y esto en todos los idiomas es un agravio. Si en lugar de 'perra' la hubieran llamado 'gata' todo habría sido distinto. El lenguaje puede hacer tanto daño como un puñetazo en la cara.

No es lo mismo que a una mujer la llamen 'perra' a que la llamen 'gata'.  No se puede comparar. No voy a explicar ahora las diferencias porque si no no terminaremos nunca este post.

Sigo con la historia: cuando Matilda leyó la nota cerró la puerta, se sentó en el sillón y se pasó la tarde llorando.

¿Por qué no para de llorar? Yo no sabía qué hacer. Me sentía culpable, la verdad. Los gatos, al ser animales poco sensibles, (no como los perros que reaccionan ante las emociones de sus dueños), no sabemos qué hacer ante situaciones así.

Sin embargo, he de reconocer que a las 4 de la tarde estaba preocupada y pensé que debía hacer algo: le mandé un SMS a Gonçalo desde el móvil de Matilda. Una sola palabra fue suficiente para que Gonçalo, seguido por el lánguido Freddy, se plantara en casa menos de un minuto: "Ven".

Se la llevó a cenar. Mientras tanto Freddy y yo nos quedamos en casa, aburridos, mirando el Master Chef (Quel ennui!).


Hasta la próxima,
Sandy





Tuesday, September 6, 2011

I dance therefore I exist - bailo luego existo


Creation of Man by Michelangelo (1508 - 1512)

News? Not many, since my last post. Freddy G. is still with us. Gonçalo is finally coming back this weekend and Freddy is, no doubt, counting the minutes to go home; We all will be glad when this happens, he is bored stiff. Sandy and I have been wondering if she and I are THAT boring or, he has too high expectations about life.

Since we saw the film Pina three weeks ago, Sandy and I have altered our morning routine.

We used to have breakfast in front of the TV and watch the morning news over a cup of coffee and a French croissant but not any more. There is too much Gloom in the news. Mirages In Unexpected Corners. Smoke Screens.  Distortions galore. Half truths. Hidden Agendas. And now an (almost daily) Popularity poll ..... zzzzzzzzzzz (sleep) of unpopular people. Plus the Impending Crisis and lots of Trivia presented as News. Sandy calls them 'mews'.




Things have got to a point where we can no longer tell what is real and what is not, what is news and what isn't. We need to have a break.

So, now, we dance. And why not?  Pina is our role model.





We apply a simple principle:

express yourself now, find the meaning later.
 
It's like the banks (buy it now, pay it back later) The difference is that I am prepared to share the know how with you for free, whereas the banks would charge you a fee.  

The way things are going you never know when you may feel the need to dance, so it may be a good idea to keep reading; I wonder sometimes if we may all end up dancing in our living rooms. I hope not.

So here it is,

THE POWER OF DANCE 

Rule number One: it is essential that you believe in Fate.  Apply this simple core belief: We don't chose, we are chosen. (A tad old fashioned premise, but hey! we live in the free world, so we can choose what to believe). 

It works like this: When Fate brings something into your life you must accept it, (no resistance) and, this is the important part, you have to transform it. Remember: Passivity in the acceptance, Activity in the transformation.  Give it a go. Keep reading.

Now, follow these simple steps:
  1. Close your eyes. 
  2. Randomly pick a CD from your collection (mine is huge); an ipod is also a possibility.
  3. Put the CD on the CD-player (with your eyes closed, mind your step).
  4. Wait (You don't know which music it is going to be; you may feel mild exhilaration).
  5. Start dancing as soon as the music fills the room.
  6. Dance for twenty minutes (freely, with total insouciance).
  7. Stop dancing when the music ceases.
  8. After a drink and some rest, try to find the meaning (if you can). 
Sandy and I often find that there is no meaning at all.

    This morning, for example, we danced to Johann Sebastian Bach's beautiful St Matthews Passion. Sandy thought it was disrespectful to dance to sacred music but I don't think so. You can dance with respect, and I did.








    Yesterday we had a ball (so to speak) with Marlene Dietrich's superb version of Lili Marlene (a song that made the femme fatale  grow in me and the chatte fatale in Sandy). We both ended up with a cigarette (unlit, of course) on our lips.












    Two days ago we danced to another old-time tune: Old MacDonald had a farm; here we had the opportunity of giving free rein to our inner child; the one that (according to some mind gurus) lives inside all of us.






    What we love of this method is that we don't know what or how we are going to dance and, most important, WHAT dancing will do to us. Some days we end up feeling extraordinarily happy, others not so happy, some days we may even feel sad. It is a Happy Sad feeling though, not the Sad Sad feeling we get with the news. 



     THE ENIGMA
    There is an enigma however that keeps turning in my head, that is bothering me. On Monday I picked a CD that I don't own and I would never own, even if it was given to me as a present. Where did it come from?  Who put it in my collection? I don't know. Unfortunately, Sandy and I had to dance for Twenty (twenty looooong) minutes to the cheery  sentimental sugary tunes of André Rieu. That was hard going, let me tell you, at least for me. I hate this kind of music. Fate played a bad joke on me that day for sure.


    And while we dance, Freddy G. is counting the minutes to Gonçalo's return while playing with his Portuguese rosary; he goes, bead by bead, (a bead a second) round and round the rosary. It's an obsessive routine that worries me so I will be relieved when he goes home, when Gonçalo returns from wherever he is and whatever he might be doing. Here is another enigma.

    Well, that is all for now.  It's Sandy's turn with some thoughts about wealth, that hot topic. Until next time

    Matilda



    HOLA amigos y amigas (de todas las edades):





    Desde la antigüedad los gatos hemos estado cerca del poder, que es lo mismo que decir cerca de la riqueza y del glamour. Basta sólo con observar al animal que la bella emperatriz egipcia Cleopatra eligió para pasar a la posteridad: "no podía ser de otra manera". Incluso creo que se parece a mi.




    Los gatos en el antiguo Egipto éramos considerados animales sagrados. Si un gato sufría malos tratos, el maltratador podía incluso ser condenado a muerte. Desafortunadamente las cosas ya no son así.



    LA QUIMERA DEL ORO ES ETERNA Y UNIVERSAL


    Desde pequeños estamos familiarizados con los conceptos de 'riqueza' y 'pobreza' sin embargo ignoramos muchas cosas sobre su origen.


    No sabemos quién fue el primer humano que se hizo rico, ni sabemos cómo surgió la primera fortuna de la humanidad.



    Desde luego no fue así.








    Es sin duda una historia perdida en la noche de los tiempos, aunque en la Biblia ya se reconocía ya la existencia de ricos y pobres.




    Frases, citas y refranes:







    Aunque la jaula sea de oro, no deja de ser prisión








    A un perro que tiene dinero se le llama 'señor perro'    Proverbio árabe








    Las frutas por la mañana son oro, al mediodía plata y por la noche matan.










    Dos andares tiene el dinero, viene despacio y se va ligero








    Los libros ¡cuánto enseñan! pero el oro ¿cuánto alegra!






    "Los avaros son como las abejas, trabajan como si fueran a vivir eternamente".
    Demócrito de Abdera.








    Cuando el dinero habla, la verdad calla.(Proverbio chino)










    Regla de oro: dejar una imagen incompleta de sí mismo.  
    Emil Michel Cioran, escritor francés






    "Mi sueño es el de Picasso: tener mucho dinero para vivir tranquilo como los pobres" 
    Fernando Savater, filósofo español










    El amor es deseable. El dinero es absolutamente indispensable.
    Jane Austen, escritora inglesa









    El dinero no da la felicidad, pero procura una sensación tan parecida, que se necesita a un especialista muy experto para discenir la diferencia.
    Woody Allen









    La riqueza es una actitud innata de la mente, como la pobreza.  Jean Cocteau, escritor francés











    Para el Sabio no existe la riqueza. Para el Virtuoso no existe el poder. Y para el Poderoso no existen ni el Sabio ni el Virtuoso.
    Roberto Fontanarrosa, dibujante y escritor argentino











    Si no se tienen elevados sentimientos, la riqueza pondrá de relieve la vulgar grosería y la odiosa bajeza.
    Angel Ganivet, escritor español









    El hombre instruido lleva en sí mismo sus riquezas.
    Platón, filósofo griego








    Nuestra sociedad ha llegado a un momento en que ya no adora al becerro de oro, sino al oro del becerro.  Antonio Gala, escritor español






    OBRAS MARAVILLOSAS HECHAS EN ORO



    Iglesia de Quito (Ecuador)




    Ataud del rei Tut






    Orfebrería Inca






    Museo del Oro de Bogotá

    Museo del Oro de Bogotá









    Escudo en oro (Indonesia)