Weekend is almost over and tomorrow there is another week to live though…But that’s tomorrow…and like they said, who cares what stars say! In the end of a day they are too far away from the Earth to be able to make any difference to such a tiny humble creatures like us, humans…
Few thoughts, collected over this weekend…
You know that you love your car, when you feel the urge to wash it, as oppose when you see the need of it to be washed...
I’ve decided to wash my Mondy-boy yesterday, which resulted in cleanness-obsessive-disorder fit: I then weeded some grasses from the flowerbed and vacuum cleaned whole house, even though there wasn’t a need in it really…It happened like flu – one moment you’re too lazy to get your ass off the bed, the next – you sick in tidying spree…
Remembrance day…
All of my grandparents have been to WWII. Both granddads and grandma. I grew up listening to the life stories of the famous battles, that we learned at History lessons…Stalingrad, Leningrad’s Blockade, Kursk…veterans used to come to schools to tell about what the War has been for them., about friends who didn’t make it through… Each story used to bring tears to their eyes – so sorrowful were memories…Few of my classmates have been to Afghanistan. Two didn’t come back…All deserved the thoughts of them and all those who made today’s happened for many of us…
Parenting Blues...
Kid came for a visit today. I’m one smiling, happy mom. Although we chat daily on MSN, it has been great to see him! Somehow we don’t know how much we will miss them, until they’ve gone.
And finally, my favourite, poetry...
Sunday’s evening calls for some soul-indulging…soft music and a poetry…today the poet of my choice is Master Will
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
Few thoughts, collected over this weekend…
You know that you love your car, when you feel the urge to wash it, as oppose when you see the need of it to be washed...
I’ve decided to wash my Mondy-boy yesterday, which resulted in cleanness-obsessive-disorder fit: I then weeded some grasses from the flowerbed and vacuum cleaned whole house, even though there wasn’t a need in it really…It happened like flu – one moment you’re too lazy to get your ass off the bed, the next – you sick in tidying spree…
Remembrance day…
All of my grandparents have been to WWII. Both granddads and grandma. I grew up listening to the life stories of the famous battles, that we learned at History lessons…Stalingrad, Leningrad’s Blockade, Kursk…veterans used to come to schools to tell about what the War has been for them., about friends who didn’t make it through… Each story used to bring tears to their eyes – so sorrowful were memories…Few of my classmates have been to Afghanistan. Two didn’t come back…All deserved the thoughts of them and all those who made today’s happened for many of us…
Parenting Blues...
Kid came for a visit today. I’m one smiling, happy mom. Although we chat daily on MSN, it has been great to see him! Somehow we don’t know how much we will miss them, until they’ve gone.
And finally, my favourite, poetry...
Sunday’s evening calls for some soul-indulging…soft music and a poetry…today the poet of my choice is Master Will
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.