lemon madelines

Sometimes when life throws you lemons, and they taste a wee bit sour and make you wince and cry quite a lot, you just have to make madelines.

Instead of the lemons being harsh and tart, they are soft and spongey and gooey and crunchy all at the same moment. They are the dessert that you have after one out of twenty eight dinners per month.

They are pricey, but then again priceless.

And in a city where so much seems to makes you think about a decision that instead you want to be sure of, they are the metaphor for the person that makes you feel like yourself.

This is the first time I have had lemon madelines and it is the start of quite a wondrous love affair.

green grass

Sometimes I wonder whether or not you should do something just because you have a natural way towards it. To get to a decent level at anything, then obviously it takes more than just a little talent. You love it and so you give the time to it that's needed. But why is it, when you make a decision to go somewhere and actually start something, that you can only think about what you left behind. And you can only think about what the place is not, not what it is. I used to sit in politics lectures thinking I can be doing more than this, I can use my body for more than merely sitting here. Now sometimes I stand at the barre with my hair slicked, and I think I can use my brain more than this.

So why does the grass always seem greener? Why are there so many things to study and have groovy jobs in, why is there this need to do them all now? It's obviously quite impossible to do it all now. You'll end up being jack of all trades, and master of none. But even knowing this, does not keep the frustration at bay.

Sometimes I'm just not quite sure what trade it is I yearn to master.

You were always hungry

When the black furry creature you carried around on your shoulder for his kitten life gets sick and isn't around any more to snuggle, what else is there to do but be a teary mess every time he pops into your head?
You wish that you told him you loved him more (but I think he understood that well enough when he used to claw his way up the back of my legs.)
I used to wish he wouldn't sit purposely on my pile of clean, ironed clothes when he would jump on my bed.
I used to wish he would snuggle for longer, but he was always hungry.
I used to wish he wouldn't dig his claws in when he was purring like a crazy kitty.
I used to wish his fur didn't cover the white lounge suite, coating my clothes in it.
Now I just wish I could have been there to hug him goodbye.
I wish he would come to sit on my bed wherever he pleased.
I don't care that he was always hungry, I would be grateful for the short snuggle I could get before he started wriggling towards his food bowl.
I don't mind if his hair had covered all the furniture in the house and we were to reside in a black furry igloo.

So when it's something you love, there's no point wishing it was even a little bit different. Because it seems like in the end none of that matters. What matters isn't the fur on the couch, or the scratches down my legs, the numerous messes I cleaned up that should have been in the garden, or the shortest snuggles in the world, it's colossal amount of love you have despite this.

I just love you Teddy. I'm not a crazy cat woman, I'm just crazy about you.

America

A hate filled and deliriously happy society shown on the front page of every Western news paper is disgusting. Watching the David Letterman show making jokes of a death "live from hell", is far from right. Why are people entertained by this?