Brown paper packages tied up with strings

It draws me , brown paper, I know not why. Maybe it is the crisp rustle that dies down a delayed whisper or maybe how it feels parched to my fingers. I love how it looks more elegant,when crumpled then straightened. It keeps its creases well, takes me to sights of fallen dunes. Maybe it is the dun color. Or some faraway memory of an aged face beautiful in its set wrinkles. It contrasts with fresh greens, it looks luminous. A brown paper bag that stands straight and folds flat is how mind thinks ‘collapse.’

I love brown paper and brown paper muddiness. A perfect doodle ground, it stands its own among all fancy papers. In its ordinariness it makes wholesome packing paper, dot it with blobs of gold or squiggles in white –   I will refuse to look at any other. I love brown paper irrationally. I wonder how I can imagine its chewy-ness. Irrational love, I think. No, I haven’t tasted it. Yet.

Have you discovered paint pens yet? I can’t find them here but a common correction pen is a wonderful doodle tool!!

If like me, you collect swatches of all pretty paper things, then decoupage on brown paper to spice up an old journal!

Camera360_2016_1_30_032828Hexagons are intriguing , they are strong and harmonious.They are bubbles and beehives.Closely packed. I like their six-sided flatness. Rationally.

I like stars more, spread far away. Irrationally.

Camera360_2016_1_30_034054Paper is a wonderful thing. A origamic delight. And brown paper – it gets me my mojo back!!

 

 

 

 

 

Notes on love

I wonder when Big Bear gets home tonight and knocks at the door, who will he find?. The  children get excited in a way I can never excite them.After a whole day of being mamma’s boys they are ready and raring for some garish boyish gaming knock your socks off kind of fun. Big Bear is our Big event of everyday.He brings evening home.

I wander. I wonder when Big Bear gets home tonight and knocks at the door, who will he find? What kind of me? Frazzled? Bedazzled?

snailThe frazzled me is not good company. She wants to be left alone and NOT left alone. She can barely crawl, forget make dinner. She is hungry and tired ,generally feeling like an overworked ,spread too thin slug who eyes everyone like they are predators. Who can’t take the sound of bumps and laughter anymore and would like to yell, ” All of you go OUTSIDE!” ” You DARE go outside!”

‘Contrariness, thy name is WOMAN.’- do not tell this to the frazzled me.

snail1The bedazzled me. She is in love. In the throes of new-found love. In the rush of adrenaline, in the mush of puppy love. Come home to her, and listen to the chatter of the boys while she stands on her toes stirring dinner. See her move slowly to get into Big arms , you ll see rainbows. She does.

“Contrariness, thy name is woman”- tell her this and you are in for intelligent conversation interrupted with coquettish laughter.

From words to numbers to words, half of our evenings, Big Bear finds the frazzled me, with frizzy hair and  a fussy mood.  snail2Like God just said,”let there be a slug burdened with a house full of babbling children. let it be lost.”

And then suddenly I was. Asking,” where is the love?”

I hear crickets whenever I say that and it further frazzles the frazzled me.

Crickets.

I ask more, and hear more crickets.

Crickets.

I start to feel unburdened, unloaded,better. While I am busy whining, Big Bear  silently holds.snail4With moth-like magic, he lifts away my dark and gets me home. He insists I buy the nice shoes even though I have a way with shoes that makes brand new ones scruffy near the toes.

I struggle , I strive to be more of a better me. From college to now,even as we grow older, he gently keeps his hand around my back while I go on insisting  that we keep falling in love ,melted chocolate and fondue like, every once in a while.

We do. Slugs,moths,crickets,children and all.

 

 

in which winter comes back and I go on munching apples

I had made up my mind that we had been robbed of winter, that it had already packed and scooted away. That there were to be no very blustery days and no visible puffs of breath to play. That my boys wouldn’t get rosy-cheeked, I had despaired.

“Disappointingly warm,” Big bear had said. The baby hated to keep his socks on. It was missing till it came. Overnight, when the tepid of the water turned icy. I don’t think my stiffened arch of the back has ever delighted me as much.Clouds of soft frost moved slowly about our mouths.

Winter wind is gusty and I like it on my face.I layered up the children and let the draught come in through the balcony door. I pretended to be a lost tatty- teddy, wet and cold as I rinsed the dishes.I tried to make my teeth chatter and left the dishes in the sink.

apples

I sat down, it is something that always amuses my children. It amused me too when I heard myself biting into an apple. Tart and spritzy, bursting into bits and thickening the silence outside of me.It took me in, that full-bodied fruit. I wonder if I spoke out loud ,”A-mazing!” but I saw my children rolling their eyes as if to say ,” What has gotten into her?”

The dishes seemed to scream at me. They went unheard too. I went on munching as if I had tasted an apple for the first time. I had sat down just to munch on an apple for the first time in years,it is true.Things must have exploded, my toddler must have had a meltdown, my boy must have endlessly complained.

But all I heard was a voice in me say, “who cares?”

apples2

I wonder if this gust of winter will last, if we will have icicle noses this year before spring gets bolder. I wonder if I should take on another apple.

 

 

Weather grump, hands , etc.

No, winter wouldn’t come. Not yet, I am still hoping though. I need my yearly shiver, the quiver in my back and the hush that only very cold can bring. It wouldn’t even snow in the hills. It makes me sad.

I judge how chilly it is not by the papers or by what the weather man has to say but by how cold the water is in the taps. It wasn’t a good day, yesterday. Someone very close commented on my hands. A decidedly underhanded comment on how rough, how undone and what a rude shade of red they had become. I am quite used to such small talk, but then as I scrubbed the dirt off the potatoes in hardly cold water , I gave up. It hurt. Nothing meant anything for a while.

I thought of a pair of antique shears, the ones I  do not possess , and thought how I used to imagine myself in a wind-catching floral dress calmly trimming leaves in my garden. Maybe add a floppy hat to that vision and then one look at my hands made me cry. Weirdly I thought of soft jersey fabric and cried some more. I cried enough to make my eight year old come tell me, “mamma I like your hands” and to make my two-year old start his very own meltdown.Wonder how your children know just what will make you stop crying.

And No, I don’t hide my tears from my children. I would like my boys to be familiar with the strange whims of a woman, who starts to cry while scrubbing potatoes. I  don’t have a daughter and my boys need to know. So, yes it wasn’t a good day ,yesterday but then a lesson still. A blessing in disguise. Though I would really appreciate a blessing that doesn’t disguise.

Poor Big Bear tried hard too, telling me how beautiful he finds me, how my hands are lovely to him but then a remark from a woman(who I have always secretly hoped would be proud of me) isn’t easily erased. It swells and blisters and pains and takes it own sweet time to pop. Time is really dumb sometimes.Maybe  I have been spreading myself too thin and breaking down was long overdue.

wonder1
If you need the reminder too, you may download.
here

My hands are really awkward, quite un-lady-like , thin fingers with swollen knuckles, sort of arthritic , nimble despite all of that. From forever moisturised and buffed they have turned into bony , slightly hard, nails cut a bit too deep working hands. They have stayed sensitive to touch and to love. They can unscrew a tight jar and hold a baby too. Strong enough to be mommy’s hands and gentle enough to be mommy’s hands. They don’t falter where I do and most of all Big bear will occasionally keep them in his while we walk.

The girl in me refuses to understand that sometimes. She craves to stroll through farmer’s markets with flower bouquets in pretty baskets or have unbroken hours of window shopping smelling hand soaps and scented candles and be on a squeaky high. Ha! the madness needs to be tamed.

A slow down will be nice. A nice smelling bath even better, not to forget the  Norwegian fishermen formula hand cream Big Bear found for me in the drugstore.

wonder2

PS: Winter , can you please come? I don’t want to jump into spring.Please.

PPS: Note to the family: Boys, you are in good hands. Remember.

I think therefore I am.

PHILOSOPHY-1 I Think . Therefore I am.

I am and I think.

I think I am.

I think I am in great existential angst.

Peripatetic in a tiny house, going nowhere. Moving on all the same.

PHILOSOPHY-4

I be. I see my children grow. Meeting their own existential problems.

Like PHILOSOPHY-5

We fight boredom and keep busy. We grow. We argue with reason and ‘unreason’ . PHILOSOPHY-2

We have fun. We sometimes have no fun at all. We dream. We despair.We be.

I be. Peripatetic in a tiny home,moving, looking , caring for its nooks and its corners , loving the present we have. Thinking of a better ahead. Therefore making it exist.

For now , from behind my very oversized jumper I blog. Somewhere in that space, I am moving slowwwly ahead. For now, it will do.

PHILOSOPHY-6

 

 

QUOTE THURSDAY!

I have found myself completely uninspired this week. That the weather has been hilariously dreary hasn’t helped much either. I had thoughts of doing a crossword or getting to do a math puzzle just to make sure all machinations in my head are working still or even pat in place.There was obviously no time to fabricate time for that so as long as it isn’t proven otherwise, I am assuming I can function.

I have decided to pull myself out of the mush.I have got to weather the weather and since winter is refusing to even stop by and say hello, I am going to have to dress up days.Every Thursday gets to be ‘ Quote Thursday’ and Each Friday will be ‘ Philosophy Friday’! for the next five weeks. I am going to ignore all actual and impending excuses I am sure to come up with.

Here is today’s PHONE -QUOTE! It is yours to download!
For keepsakes!
 

I am hoping to meet inspiration, and wish the same for you!

Make sure you check in tomorrow, philosophy is going to take an unexpected turn! See ya!!