All posts tagged: everyday life

camp’s over…

  Phew, have I been busy this month! I mean, it’s not as if I did not expect to be busy this April, even a bit, erm, well, somewhat busier than usual. After all, I did register for #CampNaNoWriMo and set myself a target of 25,000 of the frequently elusive little buggers we trade in. I thought it would be a perfectly attainable goal while still attending to all my other usual daily grind, and still keep up with reading and reviewing — and, most important of all, sleeping. In my bid to came to my decision more or less scientifically, I had looked at last November, earnestly, quizzically: it’s true that I had very little sleep, and that did next to nothing else, but I had managed to come up with over the required 50,000 words… So, can you follow my reasoning? Halve the goal, and the time you save will allow you to do half  of the everything-else you would otherwise neglect… plus sleep, and if you sleep then work will be, will come easier, be it with words …

~ so, cue in a brand new year; but do we really have to…?

And even more to the point: if this year is all as brand new as it’s supposed to be, why is it that it’s feeling already so old and déjà vu? Maybe it is our fault. All those things we keep relegating to the background, hoping perhaps that by systematically ignoring them we will consign them to some hole in history out of which they will not be able to climb to come and pester our days. But it does not work like that, and they do seem to have this way of coming back to haunt us. Or, at the very least, to inevitably colour everything around us, to cast a shadow of their own onto what we wanted to preserve, pristine and untouched: our brand new year, our yearly welcomed chance at renovation, at new beginnings. Thus with this new year. It has been so bandied about — 2018. That year. You know, the year. 2018. The year when it will all change out of recognition. The year when life as we have known it so far …

such small mercies

  It’s five a.m., and the skies have opened up. Once again. The rain pounds and thunders on the rooftops, on the cars parked outside, on the road and pavements. If I didn’t know better, I’d say St. Peter had sent us a deluge of, well, pebbles and gravel. That’s how it sounds. But no. I stare out of the window, looking for the day that somehow isn’t yet breaking, though only last week it could already be seen blushing above the eastern horizon — and all I see is water. Water. Liquid, determined, insistent, persistent, coming out in sheets after sheets, solid-looking curtains of silvery metal rods that somehow disintegrate on first contact. Pooling a bit everywhere. Hurrying down the street. Over the pavements. And if it goes on like this, everything will be waterlogged. Everything. Including my life. Which, right now, seems to be just about nose-above-surface. And it’s only just August. Still only August. Silently, I drag a chair over, the best I can, nearer to the window. Still gazing out of …

And so it is…

  And so it is that I’m going live again. My writer has just ticked the little circle thing on the reading settings, and hey, presto! here I am for all to see. In the time that I was away — well, not away away, really, I’ve been here all the time it’s just that I was under wraps — my writer eventually gave me a most comprehensive makeover: I’ve got a new theme, new menus, new widgets (a-hem, there’s one widget malfunctioning and still a few that are missing, but the cats say the writer is only human and time is definitely money), a new a review policy, a Rules of Hauissh (whatever one of those is), a new bio page… and a tagline! I’ve got a new tagline!!! Yiiipee! Without one, I must confess that I felt like I was going to the races without a hat! Or to a ball without crystal slippers! Or… well, let’s not get too carried away, you surely get my drift. The writer says that it’s a …

the pleasure of simple things

  Encircled with shading net, it is cooler on the patio than on the outside-outside, the rest of the garden. Through its dark green weave, I can still see the glare of the summery heat, blazing white, overwhelming. Outside the netting, it is almost too hot to breathe, almost too hot to live. Inside the netting, life still seems possible. It is only April; it should not be this hot, not yet. I wonder what the real summer will be like, come July and August. I went to the fishmongers this morning. So much fish. So much variety. While here, I always try to eat what I can’t get hold of in England: ‘carapau’, my firm favourite; how I’ve missed it all these years. And then the ‘fanecas’, so delicately flavoured; I could never understand why the Brits, as proud as they are of their ‘fish and chips”, can disdain such lovely fish as pout and horse mackerel. Silly, silly, silly people; they don’t know what they’re missing out on! And then… And then there is …

of gods and demons ~ in (conflited) defence of the ebook

I absolutely venerate my paper books. How’s that for a hook, eh?
Yes. I love my books, but now I have an e-reader and I’ve never read this much in all my life. I still have my paper books, which I cherish as if they are spoilt little gods, and guard them very jealously indeed. And I still have the ritual of reading, for when the time is right. For everything else, I have my e-readers

language café

We arrive five minutes past, and there’s only a man and a woman sitting at one of the tables. Apart from them, the whole place is quite deserted. ‘Do you think it’s them…?’ I ask Man, and he looks at me, the mere hint of a shrug in his eyes and his shoulders. ‘Could be.’ He finally answers. I walk all the way around the place, from one room to the other and back to the starting point again. ‘Well, there’s nobody else around, so it’s either them or nobody else… Shall we ask?’ ‘You want to ask?’ Oh no, not this time, mister, I tell myself. Not this time. I’m always the one doing the asking, and you the one wriggling out of it. But not this time. ‘You do it this time’ And I smile my best, most alluring smile at him. He grimaces, retraces his steps and approaches their table. By the time I get round the connecting tunnel and back into the main room, there’s laughter all around. But no, it …

autumn gold

the blessing of autumn after the torrid summer. the fresh drops of the still shy rain on the still bare skin. the scent of the earth, of the grass, of the streets after first rain. later, much later, almost an eternity gone by, or so it always seemed to the child, mom and dad and I shopping for Christmas presents, mom dragging me behind her in her hurried, fluttering step, dad purposefully lagging behind in his usual laid back, couldn’t care less way. suddenly, a wink of his blue eyes and a smile, and the little cone of hot newspaper would materialise in my hands. it’s all buried somewhere. not even the child has remained. only the chestnuts remain, but they no longer taste the same. they no longer smell of love, and of the smile of the simplest things.     12 October 2013   © Nina Light CC-BY-NC-ND      

life, unbound

    “I don´t know what beauty you can possibly find in any of that!” She throws at me in passing, her head slowly shaking from one side to the other. I suppose it is yet something else in which I am a disappointment to her. Heart on the sleeve. Head in the clouds. Always in dreamland. Always living a fantasy. “Life is not what you think it is, little missy!”, she used to scold me many, many years ago. “You imagine it´s all sweet words and poetry and everything like in the movies and all la-di-da, and it ain´t, it just ain´t!” I smile to myself and carry on shooting. I almost tell her that life turns out to be exactly as I imagined it. Every single blessed day. But I don´t. I just smile to Man, who´s crept up silently behind me, he too smiling. His hand is on my shoulder. In my hand, the camera whirrs and purrs. The macro is but the faintest whisper as it slides and locks. I don´t …