Dear Santa,

Here I am again, trying to figure out what I need and what I want… Not an easy task, as usual, taking into consideration philosopher Jagger’s “you can’t always get what you want” and the ever true “be careful what you ask for, you can actually get it”.
Let’s go slowly then, let’s forget the world peace and lower CO2 emissions – this is Obama’s thing after all.

First thing – the closest to conclusion, is a lovely, sweet perfume “L’Eau Ambree” by Prada. A gift from my dear friend, my mate, my forget-me-not and many other things – thank you...
(Note: a gentleman knows that “oh, you smell so nice” comes at some cost and doesn’t try to ignore a good occasion to contribute to the niceness, after all it’s for his senses too.)

Second – I’m getting myself the same book I bought for a gift for a fellow Lusitanian mystery seeker. Guess we will be reminded of each other on our trails.

Third – oh, Santa, may I? I know about the starving children and the unemployed and the miserable, but can I have a new camera? It doesn’t have to be right now, but ... an Alpha 850 body would be just great, it’s full frame and all, I know you understand :-)

And then there is the issue, the big deal, the thing. Well, dear Santa, I’m really counting on you on this one, it’s been a year of dry runs and training, now it’s time for the real thing. Obviously, I’m scared, but who wouldn’t be, yet the expectations and the possibilities outweigh any uncertainty. Let’s go for it this year, OK?

Assorted stuff: this time it’s more of a formal attire, no seriously – I know it’s never been my style, but the time has come. Things going towards business suits, decent footwear, skirts and blazers – you know the drill. Matching handbags and earrings are always welcome... Oh, yes and a black watch, to replace the one I disposed of so foolishly last year – this or a proof it was not a foolish thing to do, perhaps?

Happy Samhain

Happy Samhain, or should I rather say Happy Wintertime?
Happy long nights and misty days, happy thick soup and hot potatoes, happy chestnuts and wine, happy sweaters and boots, happy snuggling on the sofa and in a warm bed.

Master Sting is right, it is an underappreciated season and quite unjustly so. There can be no springtime rebirth without winter descent into darkness, either in nature or in spirit. Even the evergreen forests are not constant but die and renew.

Happy introspections and soulsearching...

Secret - Sacred

Sometimes what's in plain view may become a secret, because we give it our own, secret meaning. It becomes coded with a secret code only we can decipher. It becomes ours.

Sometimes what's generally considered sinful or immoral may become sacred, because we feel the spiritual power that gives it a whole new meaning, above and beyond any trivial judgement. It becomes our own religion. It becomes our sacred secret.

Passions and sharing thereof

It’s so cool to find someone who shares our passions. To talk endlessly in hermetic languages of some specific area knowing that all is understood and little has to be explained. It’s especially cool to find a long lost hobby twin when one is crazy about some fringe subject like 14th century sculpture or New York jazz scene of the early 60’s.

It’s sometimes even cooler to meet people who share the common base (medieval, jazz) but are our neighbours in interests, because they can expand our knowledge in an extraordinary way, filling the gaps and offering a different point of view. Sometimes it results in creation of a new common area, shared only with that person, which is, by all means, fascinating.

People who are completely dedicated to a totally foreign subject can be incredibly alluring, but in the long run they are a tougher case. It takes patience to explain the basics it takes tolerance not to shove one’s hobby down somebody else’s throat, mind, eyes or ears. Dragging someone kicking and screaming to the opera normally won’t work wonders, while there is a slim chance they may fall in love with Verdi at the first note, there’s a pretty good chance they won’t.

Solution is, as always, in tolerance and trust and in not giving up what we enjoy to accommodate others. Go to the opera alone. Go with likeminded friends. If the anti-operatic friend or lover feels jealous or insecure it’s their problem. It really is. Not being able to give other people space for their interests and passions is a problem. Demanding that they partake in our hobby and forsake theirs is akin to mental violence.

Bottom line? Everything is doable when there’s tolerance, understanding and, above all, respect (self-respect included). Never give up on who you are and what defines you, respect the other part’s identity, enjoy and expand what you have in common, be tolerant of differences.

Sounds simple, right? Unfortunately, it’s not that easy, but still a person of passions and interests, even if hermetic and completely different from ours, beats a walking-talking zombie anytime ;-)

The Simple Pleasures of Life

A glass of wine at the end of the day.
Snooping places noone else can see and taking pictures thereof...
Freshly painted, shiny toenails.
Wind messing with my hair.
Sun caressing my shoulders.
Fresh and crisp linens, even if the bed is not meant to be shared, tonight.
Work, results and pay.
Satisfaction of having done things, especially with our own hands and even more especially when we get this tangible, physical effect of a different kind of work for a change after a long time dedicated to purely intellectual efforts. Above all, especially if some nice people have said "you can't do it, pay to have it done..." :p
Cheese, bread and ... more cheese.
Recognition.
Company to talk to all night long.
Being alone and not having to explain anything.
Movies.
Books.
More books.
Information superhighway and silly people on the internet. So far away and so close.
Travels, travel agents and planning.
Anticipation. Fulfillment. Extasy.
Life... the greatest adventure :-)

Uniform and Beyond

I have a confessed soft spot for men in uniforms. In part it’s due to my grandfather, great-grandfather, great great-grandfather and many others in my male line having been military, by choice or need. The other part is archetype: The Emperor – the warrior, the very embodiment of courage and honour, someone you can trust, someone who is there to protect you – as long as you are on the same side, that is.

Courage, honour and that protective trust or trusted protection are more important traits of masculinity than a big dick. Obviously, many men who wear uniforms don’t live up to expectations, but one thing can be probably taken for granted – whiny bitches and crybabies don’t even make it through boot camp, that’s a start. Who needs a crybaby with a dick anyway? But I digress, point is… a man needs to be a man, and a man in uniform always looks promising in that department, at least that.

I believe I can fly...

I do, I still do, but the days after soaring high are hard, even if it's not a fall that follows just a reality check.

The adrenaline rush is the greatest thing on earth, coming back to normalcy is ... painful. An ilussionary pain, subjective, but pain nonetheless.

Emptiness.

Time to kill.