Procediamo senza paura

e lavoriamo.

Siamo felici di ciò che abbiamo (pluralia maiestatis, esortativo).

Che è solo quando il tempo viene usato bene che mi sento bene.

PS: dovevo fare a meno del dolce…

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It’s about

It’s about being a parent,

a mother,

a daughter,

a wife,

a lover.

It’s about being responsible,

reliable,

listen

guide

love

in the widest meaning.

It’s about living

here, now

my mind and heart

wandering also in farther lands, unknown cities.

A mind connection that seems challenging to maintain

a connection involving heart and soul.

It’s about listening and learning and correcting and not being tricked by my own self.

Patience, quiet, focus on the goals in one’s life.

Retrieving balance.

It’s about all that, and more.

Really waiting to see how is going to be,

going step by step, responsible, balanced, strong.

In peace with myself in a way.

Vulnerable in another way, but it’s life.

 

 

Tame

It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important…

You become responsible for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose…

 

 

http://www.angelfire.com/hi/littleprince/framechapter21.html

“No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that mean–‘tame’?”

“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”

“‘To establish ties’?”

“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . .”

“I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince. “There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . .”

[…]

“My life is very monotonous,” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . .”

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

Please–tame me!” he said.

“I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.”

“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . .”

“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.

“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me–like that–in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . .”

The next day the little prince came back.

“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . .”

“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.

“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all.”

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you–the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It is the time I have wasted for my rose–” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . .”

“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near–

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . .”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“Then it has done you no good at all!”

“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added:

“Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”

Sabato, pigro, soleggiato, ventilato

Stamani siamo andati con i bimbi a far visita al cimitero. I miei morti sono tutti qui, ci sono i miei nonni, bisnonni, zii, prozii… mio padre, la mia maestra delle elementari.

Siamo passati a far visita a tutti, poco prima di mezzogiorno, il sole a picco e brillantissimo, il cielo azzurro intenso, l’aria mossa dal vento portato dalle piogge dei giorni precedenti…

Abbiamo portato acqua ai fiori e sistemato le piante cadute per via del fortunale di due giorni fa. Al solito, ho ricordato loro le storie di ognuno…

Non c’era nessuno in giro vista l’ora e il sole. Un cimitero di campagna, regno di quiete, immerso nel verde e nel canto delle cicale che sale altissimo. Ieri sera, al ritorno dal nostro giro in bici sull’argine (era quasi buio) le lucine votive lo illuminavano fiocamente.

….

Stamani sono andata a correre. C’era vento e mi sono messa la giacca della tuta… ho sudato poco, visto il vento…

C’era un bel fresco e ho fatto quanto mi ero ripromessa di fare, senza prendermi pause. Sono secoli che non corro ma non mangio troppo ultimamente, e mi sento leggera. Le gambe e il fiato hanno retto. Domani torno.

….

Contro ogni aspettativa plausibile, la felicità di base perdura. Almeno per ora…

Avevo quasi dimenticato (o forse non avevo mai saputo) com’era sentirsi nel modo in cui mi sento adesso.

E non so se è perché io sono più vecchia e so apprezzare quanto mi arriva, o se sto prendendo un granchio colossale, o se è solo che sono stata abbastanza bastonata negli ultimi anni, e mi attacco a qualsiasi cosa…

…l’ultima delle tre l’ho esclusa. Perché, a dire il vero, non mi attacco a qualsiasi cosa.

Tra le prime due non so dire. Lo dirà il tempo. La sensazione attuale è quella di essere fortunata al limite dell’incredibile… già questo è sufficiente. Il resto, è un di più, come mi scrive qualcuno…

Figli e nipoti

Temporale, oggi, leggero rinfresco…

Figli e nipoti che giocano insieme fuori.

Io che siedo al tavolo di lavoro, lavoro e sogno.

Ho battuto la fiacca finora, tanto è ancora da fare…

Ho alcune parole tatuate nel cuore. Belle, magnifiche, carissime parole. La mente corre e non sa, in realtà, cosa può portare il domani. Corre e corre, che non riesce a stare ferma, anche se corre in un cammino più determinato di prima. Complicato, ma più chiaro adesso. Mi accorgo di amare la certezza di sapere, delle molte variabili da determinare determinate, delle risposte che non deludono, di qualcosa di prezioso qualunque direzione prenda.

 

 

Non scrivo perché…

…non ho tempo, principalmente, presa come sono tra bimbi e lavoro e parenti italiani e caldo afoso e piscina il pomeriggio tardo…

Inoltre conta il fatto di non avere una connessione stabilissima.

Inoltre, sì, la ragione principale per cui non scrivo è che sono felice, in un certo senso.

Una sorta di felicità costante, inaspettata, cui mi riesce difficile abituarmi ma che mi fa sentire bene… almeno, così mi pare. Spero tanto di non sbagliarmi e che duri questo stato di grazia…

In effetti, da che interagisco con mondo dei blog, c’è una sorta di correlazione tra mio stress e frequenza di post sul mio blog. È innegabile, se mi sento stressata/infelice/inadeguata sento di più il bisogno di scrivere e sfogarmi.

Quindi, lo so, sono proprio stronza a usare questo strumento a questo modo, ma per me è  così, principalmente mi sfogo… e se le frustrazioni sono meno, non scrivo.

Quindi, da una parte, gioite per me che non scrivo! 🙂