Smell the Fall?

Do you smell the Fall around us? This morning, I woke up and from the barely open window I smelled that cold, fresh, earthy, sweet, crisp, colored in orange, sleep-inviting and love-to-cuddle-under-blanket smell of Autumn. I didn't want to move from bed, just close eyes, pull up the blanket to my nose and pretend I was still sleeping, smelling Fall. Ahhhhh...October is almost here and that is the best month to sleep...did I mentioned I LOVE to sleep?

How to make sleep inviting? A bit of cold, clean sheets with a soft smell of fresh laundry, a pillow that has still room to squish under your head, warm up your cold feet by touching someone with warm flesh beside you, Fall smell and something good to think about inside your head.

When I think of Fall, is all orange and dark redish colored, cooking with pumpkins, smell like cinnamon, dressed up with jackets and driving with the heater turned a bit up, eat chestnuts while watching chick flick movies that make my cry.

Fall begins with my nephew's birthday, then my father, then my daughter, then my wedding anniversary, then 80% of my friends birthdays, then Halloween, then my birthday, then a whole bunch of my cousins birthdays, the Thanksgiving somewhere in between. All this before the horrible mess of Christmass begins is like the calm before the storm. Did I mentioned that Thanksgiving is the only North American holiday that makes sense to me and I actually like to celebrate?

December makes me depressed. If I will ever kill myself, it will be in December. Until then, please let me enjoy the Fall with all it brings to me! Smell deep and Happy Fall!

Master Card Moment

Last week I had a huge Master Card moment.

Airplane ticket =$400 + a lot of aeroplan points
New Dress = $100
New shoes= $80
Being at my cousin's wedding= Priceless

Here I found a funny version of a banned MasterCard advertisment.

But to go back to my moment, I took a last minute decision to go back home and be there on my cousin's wedding. A 4 stops flight with an overnight stop on return.
Almost everyone was there. I hadn't seen some of them in 9 years and was nice to meet again, especially on a wedding where everyone is happy. My cousin, the bride, was really pretty and looked like a princess. Facebook is full of wedding pictures where you can see everyone with hands up on the dance floor, smiling, laughing and laughing a lot to the point that you can count their teeth. Was good to have my brother there as well and make fun with his dance moves. The only one I can't make fun is my dad, he is the best dancer ever, to the point that makes everyone gealous!

At the end, I did spend a lot, I was away from my hubby and kid for a while but it was worth it. If you think about it, life is not just to work, pay bills and do all the chores that we should do. I will forget all the bills I have payed, I will re-do all the chores over and over again, I will go to work again and deal with all the stress there. But there are days like that wedding, that will stay on my memory and heart for a long time, untill my memory will not fail me.

Being around home, had a quick chance to meet a couple of friends too. That was another Mastercard moment, lots of good times and laughes over some good food and wine. Easy talk, smooth and no need to pretend.... that is the feeling of being with old friends.

Had a chance to confirm that for my parents I will always be a kid, no matter how many gray hair I have. Had a chance to confirm that my nephews still recongnize me as their aunt. Had a chance to see my brother one year older than last year. My sister in law feeling good around me and getting closer together.

All in all, last week I was happy. And I do not usually believe in associating the word happy to period's of time longer than hours.

A story from a dead artist

This one is written by Adhurim Lako. He was a writer that didn't want to publish his writings. All his life he has done translations, and those are the only writings he has ever agreed to publish. He passed away on 2006 and some of his friends have collected his stories and have printed a book. To respect his will, they will not publish it. The book will be handed to some of his close friends and they will pass it to others, and so on. To tell the truth I didn't know him until now. I know his brother, Bujar Lako, that is one of the good Albanian actors. Apparently, Adhurim had wanted to be an actor too and he believed that he could have been a better actor than his famos brother. Too bad I heard about him so late, but i am happy that I could get one of his stories. This one here, "The bus", reminds me my childhood. All he says here, brings me back when I was a child and used to get on the bus to go to visit cousins. Later on, I stared taking a bus every morning to go to high school and everything he says here is so real.
Once again, I have to ask forgiveness to my non-Albanian friends for not translating this. His language is very rich and I am affraid I will not be able to bring all the colors of his words in English for you.


Autobusi

Sepse më vinte mirë të rrija ca më gjatë sot në shtrat e të kotesha ndër thellat e kohës. Cm‘u kujtua koh‘e shkuar

Përgjithësisht, unë mëngjeseve ngrihesha në orën 6 dhe, si përshëndetje për ditën e re, merrja ca shqelma prapanicës në Autobusin që më shpinte në punë.

Nuk e di se si, po gjatë rrugëve mendoja ca gjëra të çuditshme; dikush, p.sh. ishte i kënaqur që autobusi ishte plot, ndërsa dikush tjetër ishte i lumtur vetëm nga mendimi se gjendej bashkë me tufën, paçka nga të shtyrat e nga disa të shara që nuk mund t‘i përmend këtu.

Çdo ditë shihja të njëjtat fytyra që kundronin me kureshtje njëri-tjetrin sikur mos ta kishin parë kurrë.

Ka nganjëherë edhe kështu; ja p.sh., një ditë vura re njërin, nuk e di përse ishte aq entuziast, ndoshta ngaqë rrinte pranë shoferit.

Mbaj mend njëherë, dikush më ka thënë se kur doli nga autobusi kishte gjurmën e një take në mëngën e xhaketës, kjo tregon se të udhëtosh nuk është aq e thjeshtë sa pandehet. Megjithatë unë mendoj se ia kam marrë dorën kësaj pune. Edhe sikur të dukej e pamundur hyrja në autobus, përvoja më kish mësuar të gjeja edhe unë një vend aty.

Ndodhte ndonjëherë që xhami i madh anësor të mungonte krejt e atëherë unë përfitoja të ulesha në karrikën pranë tij sepse dihet që njerëzit janë "delikatë" e kanë frikë se mos u ngjallet ndonjë flamë e vjetër. Ç‘është e drejta, unë e paguaja këtë me nja dy-tri ditë kollë e hundë, po të paktën isha i kënaqur se më në fund e bëja një rrugë, i strukur aty më vete, duke parë vetëm pallate ngjyrë gri e me njolla të bardha nga plaçkat e nderura aty-këtu, apo njerëz të kërrusur që nxitonin drejt vendeve të punës, e thosha me vete se ky dekor nuk ka për të ndryshuar kurrë, në jetë të jetëve.

Mua më pëlqen shumë të fle. Atëherë kuptohet se sa e vështirë është të çoheshe në një orë kaq të shpejtë e të ngisje pas autobusit sikur kjo të ishte vendimtare për jetën tënde. Rastiste që edhe të mos hipje dot! Atëherë, të them të drejtën, nuk ndjehesha mirë, sepse shihja që përtej xhamave më vështronin të gjithë ata që kishin mundur të hipin, e në një mënyrë sikur të kisha bërë ndonjë faj të rëndë!

Eh, sa vjet kanë shkuar! Megjithatë, erdhi një çast e sikur ndryshoi pak. Erdhën ca autobusë të rinj dhe sepse ndjeheshe i ngushëlluar për diçka të pakuptueshme. Në fillim, njerëzit kishin mjaft frikë pej tyre. Porsa hipnin, përpiqeshin të ishin të shkujdesur sikur nuk kishte ndodhur gjë, megjithatë e përshëndesnin njeri-tjetrin sikur të ishin përpara eprorëve të tyre.

Epo, kjo kohë kaloi shumë shpejt dhe autobusi i ri dhe i bukur, i ardhur nga larg, u kthye në një karakatinë dhe njerëzit hipnin si më parë në to, pa çarë kokën më për frikën e dikurshme. Prapë britmat dhe zëniet morën hov, e u shtuan ca më tepër, se dihet që hallet e njerëzve nuk kanë të sosur. Ndodhte nganjëherë të shihje tek mbylleshin dyert e fuqishme e të mbetej jashtë tyre ndonjë çantë e panjohur që përpiqej majtas e djathtas të tërhiqte me zor pas saj të zotin a të zonjën.

Nganjëherë mendoja se do të ishte më mirë të blija një biçikletë, po ç‘është e drejta, biçikleta nuk e di se si, … po edhe me të nuk i kam punët mirë, ndofta ngaqë kam mësuar shumë vonë ta ngas dhe; po sikur të më prishej? Nga do t‘ia mbaja unë i ziu me këto pak njohuri që kam mbi mekanikën? Shpesh më ndodhte të shihja me habi disa njerëz që e kishin përdorur për një kohë të gjatë. Rastisi që iu qava një mikut tim për këtë hall dhe ai u zotua se do t‘më ndihmonte në çdo avari që do t‘mund të më ndodhte.

Eh! Endërra të shkuara!

Unë prapë vazhdoj të udhëtoj me autobus duke kënduar me vete i përgjumur; "Love, love me do".

My Master

I was trying to figure out what is the male version of Mistress, and I found is Master?!! Sort of too much for what the Master is used nowadays, very far from what Mistress is used for. But anyway, this is not what I want to write about, is rather about my master, the one that I open my heart and let my self show everything. Is the one that knows very well how I feel, who do I miss, what do I want, when I need attention, where do I want to rather be. Is the one that has seen me mad, sad, glad, happy, angry, crying, smiling, laughing, singing, talking, planning, expecting, dreaming. Is the one that knows by name everyone around me and how I connect with them, how much each of them means to me, who would I want to have beside me. Is the one that has seen me dressed up, in old clothes, all makeup done, skin out of control, early in the morning, late at night, cold snow day, hot summer heat, sweating and stinky, smelling like a rose, curly and wet, straight and dry, full of energy, tired, touching the sky, lost without hope.

I only wish that was a human. It is my car!

Is my beautiful car that all asks from me is gas, service check three times a year, clean when I feel like and windshield fluid. Has a huge room for me and everyone I want to take for ride. Is flexible and can lower the back seats to make room for stuff that I decide to buy. Plays any song I want to hear, tells me all the news about the World, takes me everywhere I want to go, whenever I want to go and never complains that is tired of me. Waits for me outside the door and winks every time I push a button. Can blow cold or hot air to keep me comfortable. Can adjust the seat to fit better to the height of the heels I am wearing. It can also warm the seat on winter days! Never tells me that my singing sucks. Never eats my groceries that I load into it. Listens to everything I say just like a psychiatrist without judging me, just accepting me for who I am. I say everything to my car, EVERYTHING! Nobody knows more about me than that car. And still comes with me everywhere I want to go, doesn't complain about my mood swings, doesn't tell to other cars about me and always shows the correct time. I really LOVE my car, my Master! I only wish it was a human.

After MJ

Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009. I first heard it on the radio driving home back from work. I remember that I said loud "Whaatt???" And then after a second I thought, "Well, he has aboused his body a lot, consistently. So many discussions about him in the last days. So many people remember the baby dangling from balcony, the little boys saying they were harrased by him, mothers saying he took their boys in his bedroom, all the crazy medical changes he did to his face and body, so many stories about his messed up childhood, and so on and so on. But a lot other people remember his music, his videos, his dance moves, his Neverland dream house. There are a lot of people that till yesterday didn't like him but now that he is dead are trying to be nice and value his music as they have no face to say any other good word about him.

So, in a nutshell, now that he is dead, everyone agrees that he is the greatest pop song maker-singer-dancer-video_maker-concert_coreographer, of the last 50 years.

He was 50, would have been 51 in a couple of months. Had a severe heart attack and his doctor is being asked a lot of questions and is put under magnifying glass for all his actions. Lately the radios were not broadcasting his music often but these last days you hear nothing but his songs. Just a couple of months ago I bought one of his Best Hits CD and my husband said "Why do you support that child molester?" I felt sort of weird to listen his CD so i kept the windows of my car up when listen and sang along. Just like everyone, I can't deny his wonderful music, the revolution he brought to music, music videos and dance. He was a real artist, original, multi-dimensinal and progressive. Do I think he was a child molester? Not really. I think he was a big child grown on a man's body. He didn't have a proper childhood. His most comfortable place was stage, singing and dancing.He was raised with lots of money that he never new what it meant not to be able to have something he liked. He was the real Peter Pan, that even thought the years go by, he keeps staing a little boy in the heart and mind. So if he really had little boys in his bedroom, if he really played with little boys in his house, I think he played just like a 12 years old boy would play when his friends are over at his place. All those mothers behind thouse court cases, are now rich and they do not feel guilty to have left their little boys in his bedroom.

I will miss his un-made music. I really wanted him to come back with a smash hit album and show the middle finger to all those people that talked bad about him but would go and download his music becasue they would be embarrased to go and buy the CD at the store. I so wanted to hear more from him, now, at my age. All I remember is his music when I was a teenager. Now I would have gone to a live concert and sing along with him. Would have been awsome, just like all his live concerts. I so wanted to hear new music that would have showd to Beyonce and Britney Spears how the real music is done without shaking the butt and showing the boobs. So, I will miss him.
Everyone will come up with a new version of his songs just like Chris Cornell, Fall Out boys, Akon, etc.
What does a guy have to do to be celebrated for his talent? He must DIE! And if he hadn't gone on those courts, he would have been buried like Elvis Presley, in tears and in pure desperation.
Rest in Peace wherever you are having dinner tonight!

Stories from '80

Storie Di Tutti I Giorni : (M.Fabrizio/G.Morra/R.Fogli) Storie di tutti i giorni, vecchi discorsi sempre da fare, storie ferme sulle panchine in attesa di un lieto fine; storie di noi brava gente che fa fatica, s'innamora con niente, vita di sempre, ma in mente grandi idee. Un giorno in più che se ne va un orologio fermo da un'eternità per tutti quelli così come noi da sempre in corsa, sempre a metà; un giorno in più che passa, ormai, con questo amore che non è grande come vorrei. Storie come amici perduti che cambiano strada, se li saluti; storie che non fanno rumore come una stanza chiusa a chiave; storie che non hanno futuro, come un piccolo punto su un grande muro dove scriverci un rigo a una donna che non c'è più. Un giorno in più che se ne va, un uomo stanco che nessuno ascolterà per tutti quelli così come noi senza trionfi, né grossi guai; un giorno in più che passa ,ormai, con questo amore che non è bello come vorrei. Storie come anelli di fumo in un posto lontano, senza nessuno solo una notte che non finisce mai. Un giorno in più che se ne va dimenticato fra i rumori di città, per tutti quelli come noi niente è cambiato e niente cambierà; un giorno in più che passa ormai con questo amore che non è forte come vorrei.

Everyday Stories : (M.Fabrizio/G.Morra/R.Fogli) Everyday stories Old conversations always to do Stories closed on benches Waiting for a happy ending Stories of brave people like us That get tired, fall in love with nothing, Normal life, but in mind have big ideas One more day that passes by One clock stopped by an eternity For everyone that is just like us Always in rush, always in half One more day that passes by now With this love that is not as big as I would want it Stories like lost friends That change way if you greet Stories that do not make rumors Like a room locked with a key Stories that do not have a future Like a little dot in a big wall Where you would write a line To a woman that no longer is here One more day that passes One tired man that no one will listen to For all of them just like us Without triumphs or big messes One more day that passes by now With this love that is not as pretty as I would want it Stories like smoke rings In a place far away, with nobody Only one night that never ends One more day that passes Forgotten within the rumors of the city For all of them like us Nothing is changed and nothing will One more day that passes by now With this love that is not as strong as I would want it

Long distance family

Last week I was invited on Facebook by my cousin on her wedding. Today a friend of mine told me that my cousin he meet on Facebook told him that my uncle has passed away 2 days ago. I called my home and my dad confirmed, the funeral was done.
Being so far from home, I thought I miss the good times like weddings or my cousins getting together on a week-long trip at the sea-side. I so wanted to be there and have fun with them, dance, sing, drink ..all the things that people do on weddings and girls-only-trips.
But today I was reminded that I am missing also the sad days, like funerals. Three years ago my aunt changed life. Hearing that she passed away for sure was a bad news. I was sad and I did try to be as close as I could to my mom on the phone. But being so far, not meeting her regularly, not being close to what she was doing and how she was feeling lately, I did not suffer as much. She can very well be still alive for what I am concerned. I didn't see her laying on a tomb, I do not miss calling someone, I do not remember on what day she passed away. Not long after her, her husband passed away as well. I felt the same. I have the feeling it will be same with my uncle. I am sad he is gone, I am sad to hear that today was his funeral and I didn't even know, I am sad to know that his daughter that lives not far from me arrived late and didn't make it to be in the funeral, I am sad to know that my dad lost a brother. Both my uncle and my aunt are people that are (eventhough in small portions) somehow responsible for who I am today. They have been very close to me when I was a child. They have given me moments that only uncles and aunts can give. My aunt used to always have a chocolate for me. My uncle used to always make beach sandals every summer when I went on vacation. He used to make nail polish too, with some weird liquids he always had on his desk at work. My aunt always used to visit me at the summer kids camp and take me out for a good lunch. Her husband had a motorbike and he used to take me for rides.
I am sad. I am scared. I am worried. I feel I am becoming a "cold North American" person. I feel this kind of life is sucking me and my energy. I am loosing reality of who is alive. I am becoming a movie character for my family and they are for me the people that know all about me without questions. I used to be part of them. Now I have become a Moon, goes around them but stays far from them. I am not part of their bad days but we talk on the phone. I am not part of their good days but I see the pictures from those days. And I am not on those pictures.