That is how I felt when I woke up this morning to dazzling sunshine and deep blue skies. That powdering of snow is still up there on the mountains, but my loquats are ripening on the tree in the drive and there are small white and gold spring daisies out all along the roadsides. Spring is nearly here.

And yesterday was not so bad. I worked and cooked, and read cookbooks, and had a long and moving phone conversation with a close friend in Kent (we don't get enough chances to tell one another we love and care about them). The new homemade lemon syrup tastes tart and lemony, a great success.

Put myself to bed early with some dark chocolate and then had to get out of bed to brush my teeth all over again. No, chocolate is not decadent. Good dirty sex is decadent. Using up all the expensive bath salts in one go is decadent. Watching certain grainy old French movies with dimly-lit porn scenes or the film sets of Pedro Almadovar is decadent. Leocadio in The Flower of My Secret telling her editor that whatever she writes comes out not pink, but black -- that is decadent. Dancing skyclad to the full moon in a garden of silver olive trees is decadent ecstacy.

But dark chocolate is very consolatory and bad for you, and sometimes that is enough.

Drinking was never decadent for me, just kind of doomed. Repetitious, dull and unstoppable.

So today I shall be trudging, but with a lighter step. Less coffee and more green tea. Picking a bunch of fragrant lavender for the bathroom windowsill. Getting back to the neverending fiction. Going out for a walk and chatting with neighbours. Mentoring new wobbly alcoholics by email. The Steps, the Steps! Monitoring the stuffiness and throb of hayfever that has appeared overnight with an abundance of fluffy spring pollen in the air.

Getting on with life. Trusting in that unseen incremental growth that goes on when we think we are standing rooted in the same damn place. Just getting through the day and making the most of this glorious sunshine.

One blogger, who is a minister’s wife, spoke of having a friend talk to someone in her church about BO. Honestly! Jesus ate with whores and drunkards. He also touched a man with leprosy. Remember this was a long time ago, before people became obsessed with hygiene, and lepers wore filthy rags to cover their sores. I don’t imagine any of those people smelled like rose water. Sure a church can teach life skills, such as taking care of one’s self, as well as teaching the Bible. But the truth is, being a Christian and bringing glory to God sometimes requires that you reach out to or hug someone who doesn’t smell so great.

Another blogger worries about getting Christian counseling in the same town where their ministry is located. I have to wonder what kind of an example they are setting for their flock. Does the congregation not know that their leaders are humans with human flaws? Are they so high and holy as to be unapproachable with the problems of the people in their church? Maybe by getting counseling themselves they would encourage others in need to do the same.

A TV preacher, who I won’t name, actually does some pretty good stuff. He feeds hungry people in Africa and runs a Bible College here in the States. Unfortunately, his TV ministry has become the “look at all the good stuff I do” show. Jesus gave the glory for everything He did to His Father. He didn’t even allow a young man to call Him good, and said only the Father is good. Works are great, and we will do good works if we love God, but the glory should be His not ours.

I was watching another program where the preaching was pretty darn good, but when the camera pans across the congregation he is so obviously proud of, it’s all lily-white, upper class faces you see. One has to wonder, what would happen of someone of color or someone poorly dressed walked into that building? Would they be comfortable? Would they feel welcomed?

A young man, who attends my church now, was removed from another church in the same town, because he has Down’s syndrome and “might be dangerous to the children”. That same church shut down their bus ministry, because “kids don’t tithe”. It’s dying now.

I don’t begrudge anyone anything God has blessed him with for a job well done. If God wants them to have a jet or a 10 million dollar building, then they should have it. But we have to stop worrying about the buildings. We have to stop worrying about how we look, and start taking care of people.

James 2:14-16 “What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works? can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, And one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?”

I don’t want a crystal cathedral if it means not feeding a hungry child or supporting a missionary. I don’t want to sing perfectly if it means someone else will be too intimidated to try. I don’t care how you smell or how you’re dressed, God loves you, and thanks to His grace and mercy so do I.

Things to look for in a relationship:

Trust: Being able to trust your partner is one of the most important things in a relationship.

Compassion: Your partner should respect you and be aware of what is troubling you, and be sensitive to your problems. Your partner should not think of themselves during troubled times.

Equality: Your partner should treat you as their equal. Your partner shouldn't oppress you or belittle you, or act like they are better than you. Remember no one can own you, you are not your partners property. Never let your partner abuse you in the name or religion, marriage or culture.

Giving: Your partner should give themselves to you. They should help you when you are in need and when you are in pain. Remember there are two kinds of people in this world: givers and takers.

Freedom: Your partner should give you the freedom to live life. If your partner is always getting in your business: Asking you where you have been, and who you were talking to. What clothes you have to wear, or keeping you from getting an education. Then you should question if your partner loves you for you, or do they just like to control you.

There is nothing in the word love that says a person must be controlled or oppressed. Remember both partners in a relationship must respect one another.  Life is too short to be oppressed or belittled.  

At Cornerstone, engagement was a buzz word (yes, Chuck Swanson, I still remember). I think most smaller, private Christian campuses naturally engage. Publishing is not a big deal, so interacting with students becomes the central focus.

At UW-Milwaukee, I pushed for engagement. I knew that it had to look different than CU, but I wasn't and still am not sure how that "different" looks. Eventually, I would *love* to go back to a larger university and interact in a way that I think is appropriate, Christ-like, and 100% enagagement worthy.

Until then... I have my students at CCU, and I am SO excited to be able to apply what I am sure most of my prof's at UW were like, "Sarah... really? REALLY? No... you don't understand". And yet, they were very kind to just let me vent and email my little heart out. And even to work on community while publishing. Wow. Seriously, this community thing is tough work, so kudos for trying. And doing! Serious kudos. I'm not even full time and I am drained from the energy (I think it's this first year thing and all of the changes, etc...). But, I still love it and am going to put forth every effort (of course, in Christ) that I can to push my students forward in engagement.

http://www.sjcme.edu/magazine/fall06/syllabus.htm

(Mostly) Practical ways I see this working:

* Personal notes.

* Lots of chocolate ;) It's an 8 am class!

* Showing up for events (musical, sports, etc).

* Being available during, after, and before office hours.

* Jesus. Them. Me.

* Discovering personal truths about each of them so that I can encourage them in the best way possible.

* Love.

hanauma bay reserve this morning it shall be... fred says it's a must go, so i am being the obedient tourist... again i am reminded of the slight downsides to solo travel for a woman... i cannot go too far off the beaten track...

when i was a little girl, i had fantasies of taking off on my own and seeing the world, like puss-in-boots ... alas, i was not only born a fragile little girl, but one with a painfully limiting auto-immune illness, the combination of which made it crushingly clear that this was the beginning of many dashed dreams for me... ok, so no cave in the mountain for me either... ah well... i can still remember the dawning of self-realisation... the feeling of overpowering helplessness and yes, anger, anger at being made this way: limitless imagination and desire shackled inside a severely disadvantaged body... but i am still here, and having a great time, living a life most 'normal' people have not achieved despite their physical advantages over me... good gal, bunnykitty, you done well...

sunblock dutifully slathered all over the tiny frame, by now tanned as a mangosteen, i slip on shorts and t over my bikini... and i realise i have lost weight... no wonder my little breasts seemed to be a tad tinier... thank goodness they are still cute and perky, another blessing at my age... these were zara kid's shorts, for 10 to 11 year olds mind you... dear me... anyhow... off i go, no time to ruminate about weight or breasts for now...

i opted for a pick-up since i was by now too lazy to do the bus thingy... no need for this middle-aged bunnykitty to compete with the young and fit in the morning rush is there?... it is 9am by the time we reach hanauma bay... the view from above was achingly inviting... a cute little old japanese lady insisted on taking a photo for me... as i waved goodbye and watched her scuttle off to rejoin her group of old ladies, i wondered with a tentative smile, where would i be at her age? what would i be doing? and with whom? then i thought of paulie, and our bitchy jokes about ourselves having to build retirement homes next to each other and pass the time quarreling over our knitting needles... a bit far-fetched, but hey, i am blessed to have friends this close and loyal... thanks paulie, for telling me that it ain't a freak of nature that i posses strong loving relationships, it just means that i have something going right for me, and i have been doing some things right... i head towards the entrance, queue for a ticket and attend the necessary video session on marine wildlife preservation and consideration... it's great that the kids are now being taught about respecting what's left of nature that we have...

sun is blazing hot, but again there is a lovely breeze... the water was so still and shallow, marine life aplenty, but my snorkel gear totally sucked... remember next time to bring my own gear bunny!!!... i didn't even have goggles with me, so once again, venturing farther out is a no-go... sigh... but hey, just walking along the shore and getting into the water as far as i could go without needing goggles was good too... cute little yellow fish came circling around my legs then hurried off to the next interested pair of human limbs... a baby shark meandered gracefully near me, tracing a swirling art nouveau pattern on the surface of the water... i stood as still as i could and it came nearer, almost touching then quickly swishing away... back and forth it came and went... then it ventured towards the sand and almost on the shore, but caught the gently receding waves back towards me for one last inspection before darting off into the deeper waters... aqua-acrobatics... graceful, strong, utterly awe-inspiring, especially for me, i have always yearned for a stronger body, knowing that i possess a natural grace for dancing and movement, but my poor body could not withstand the punishment i tried to inflict upon it in order to satisfy my lust for physical power... i could only gasp in awe and envy... and so i did now... i was too enthralled to bother with trying to catch it all on camera... i just stood transfixed and breathed in every detail of the delicious visual feast...

and the sand... absolutely intriguing... it was golden at some parts, and coarser, but at the far curves of the sweeping embracing bay, the sand became a soft, fine, smooth, dark brown, almost black at certain places... delicious treat for a sensorial addict like myself... caressing is one of my sensory indulges... i love to stroke and caress... every nuance and texture is a rich treat to be able to touch and soak up...

by noon, the bay began to really fill up with all kinds of day-trippers, mainly tourists, but also some local families...

the sound of children's laughter reminded me of the 17 years i spent with very young children... i cannot now fathom the purpose of this part of my life at all, it seemed like a vacuum period where a very precious part of me was crucified in the name of a 'higher calling', namely, that of nurturing the future generation... ok, fine, it is indeed a noble duty, a costly responsibility not to be taken lightly or scoffed at... but where did those years just go?... the child i so dedicatedly helped to bring up is now flying high on his own wings, in the hallowed grounds of oxford, where, at the age of 6, i brought him and gave him a taste of what was to come... i didn't know then at all, i was young, too young to see into the future... i am proud of his achievement, as i am proud of mine, but we no longer keep in contact, not by my own choice but his, and i wonder, where did all the years of affection and care go?... perhaps this is how a parent will feel when the children grow up and move away, physically and emotionally... but this is something i will never know for sure... not as a real mother anyway... i know i would make a great mum, i know i can do the job better than many of these silly women i see pushing prams around like fat stupid birds... yet, i never had maternal desires, and the only man i could ever contemplate having a child with was him... but he was also the one who sealed my fate never to be a mum... anyhow, after the long struggle to recover, it was really no big deal to find out that the infection had rendered me most likely incapable of ever conceiving... but somehow yet, as a woman, deep down inside, i felt the intangible sigh of something dying within me...

bunnykitty's tum was beginning to rumble... oh you greedy gal... time for a reluctant but resolute retreat into the shade and back... on the way back to the pick-up point, i took a little detour up the looming majestic hill... despite the heat, it was exhilarating to be up there looking down at the peaceful bay... but time for good bye now... i will be back again, i promise...

and as i bid goodbye to this magnificent piece of paradise, i whisper a little prayer, a blessing of well being and hope for a blue frog, no matter where he is... thank you my precious cruel lovely creature, for helping me see that i don't need to look far and wide, nor settle for just one second of paradise... for i am carrying paradise deep inside me... and you...

Arms ache to close the ruptures (yours too weak
To do more than wish to return my embrace)
Tears unite our flesh, pressed cheek to cheek
As if resisting the separation we soon must face.

Yet how can mere arms contain the storm?
The ripping in my chest can only echo your pain
Not take it away – I can't even keep you warm!
And each embrace is closer to never again.

Tangled in the racing fuse our arms strain to hold
Our world safe for one more hug before it can explode.

Of all the words I've read this week, these, from the powerful and poignant blog The Price of Love, were the ones that stayed with me, and turned into a poem:

“I hugged her and comforted her as best I could, feeling her pain heaving through the sobs against my chest. I held her then, but what more could I do when I was tearing down the middle inside?”

Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.

And so these vipers look to him and say

What should we do then?

To the crowd he says

The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.

That sounds like he's saying that fruit of repentance is the same as sharing things you own with the poor, both clothes and food. To the tax collectors he says:

Don't collect more than you are required to.

That sounds like the fruit of repentance is about not extorting but also about not hoarding, and maybe that applies to food and clothes too. To the soldiers he says:

Don't extort money and don't accuse people falsely - be content with your pay

That sounds like the fruit of repentance means like you should only take money for things you have earned, and that the powers of being part of the empire should not be abused. That would almost radically suggest that these people should engage in fair trading.

Wow. And to think that the word evangelism was not even mentioned. Who'd have thunk that this could be the fruit of repentance.

A worldful of odd socks
Black and beige and yellow and tan
So many, so scattered
You would think it impossible
That any sock might ever find
A pair with a matching sole
Knitted from the same stuff
To curl up and grow shabby with.
And yet, the mathematicians tell us
It's easier than it can appear
For each sock can be half
Of more than one matching pair
And sometimes matching perfectly
Matters far less than you think.

This week's prompt at Weekend Wordsmith reminded me of the following maths puzzle:

In your sock drawer, you have 10 blue socks, 12 white socks, and 6 red socks that are all mixed together. It is dark and you can't see the colors of your socks.

What is the least number of socks that you have to pull out to make sure that you have a matching pair?

>

>

The answer is four. If you have pulled out three socks, the only way you will not have a matching pair is if you have one sock of each colour. And so the fourth sock you pull out must have the same colour as one of the socks you've already pulled out...

It hadn't occurred to me to see this as a metaphor until I came across this prompt!

The photo is SPT: new warm socks, originally uploaded to flickr by yumptatious.

Poochu was no ordinary dog he was very human in innumerable ways...........and the only true friend i had as a little girl......oh how can i forget those long afternoons when poochu and i would stroll on the terrace as the world shut itself from us........in other words everyone would be sleeping and i never could get myself to sleep in the afternoons it just seemed like such a waste of time...........then.......

Poochu never left my side it may seem funny but even when i had to use the restroom he would seat himself outside the door.....waiting.....on diwalis poochu would hide in every possible corner of the house!          

 Well RT nagar was not always a place that resounded with happy noises it also had its dark moments.......as a little girl i remember being so scared when anyone raised their voices or showed anger. There was hardly a day without someone getting angry, someone getting scolded........someone getting hurt.........but in all those times i had one constant companion -the dog.

While the adults in the house turned into animals poochu would turn into the only human being around.........as i felt sad and retreated into the dark night outside the doors of anger.........i would see the bundle of white fur following me.......he was always there and i never once felt lonely with him around.......i would talk to him as he would look at me with his big brown eyes....how reassuring those eyes were!! how much those eyes said!!

Everytime i entered the house poochu would run out and jump on me, licking me all over my face........he would never allow anyone to scold me.......if someone did he would bark at them......scare them away he would'nt let even amma come near me if she was angry......and if someone tried to hit me they would have to undergo the risk of being bitten.......

one day though as i opened the gates poochu did run out but suddenly fell down when he tried to jump on me.......he was rushed to the vet and we came to know he had suffered a hairline fracture, that evening pooch was surrounded by everyone in the house but since that day life was never the same for poochu.......he never fully recovered after that.......but he did continue to be loving and playful but just not as fast as fast as he usually was on his feet.....

In the recent weeks though he grew terribly week, hardly able to move......and then he went away......after living for 12 years....how many ever other dogs come and go in my life Poochu would always hold that one special place in my heart.......he taught me that you don't need words to communicate and you don't need the whole world when you have one person to truly love you.........he was an inspiration.........and my silent peace-giver........ 

But I have to say that looking at the thought-provoking and intriguing artworks posted by recovery blogger ScottW in Attitude of Gratitude always gets the morning off to a good start. Art (paintings, music, literature, dance) is so core to living well, whether we are appreciating it or creating it.

And even the most piercing heartache doesn't stop me enjoying a strong cup of coffee and a hug from my housemate. I am so lucky to be loved, really I am.

And talking of coffee, I am going to have to cut out that morning cup or two in the course of this week or I shall spend the first few days on retreat sitting with a headache from caffeine withdrawal. I don't drink that much coffee (two or three cups a day) but strong cupfuls and enough to give me a mild pang or two of discomfort when I stop altogether. So I shall have chamomile or green tea and feel virtuously bleh.

I'd love to be elsewhere. But I'm not, and while doing a slightly chilly meditation this morning I could feel myself grounding again. The way I feel when I am sitting in an AA meeting, just there and nowhere else, listening and swelling with empathy and 'me too' stuff. Or that 'Thank you God that her/his particular trainsmash hasn't hit me yet' stuff.

Sitting up in bed in the half-dark, paying attention and clearheaded, calm, no inner storms even though the rain and wind was hammering on the glass and rattling the front door. Sober at the dawn of another day. Thinkng: this is my life and this is all there is right now. I can go into the 'thisness' more deeply, I can wait for it to pass or change, but right now this is as good as it gets and this is reality. Awareness filling the bedroom like the quiet acceptance in my bpdy, that inner spaciousness I never understood.

Thinking: whatever happens today, I need not drink. I choose to stay conscious and mindful, I choose to live as fully as I am able. I choose to grow in skilful relating.

Telling myself: it's OK, you didn't do anything wrong, you just fell in love. It isn't all your fault.

The breath so sly and subtle as it enters and leaves my nostrils, so cool, then warm, so gentle and soothing.

At this point I often start to ruminate with bitterness on what others have done wrong or how sad it is that I can't seem to get my life together or to worry about the ache in my left shoulder blade and remember that the yoghurt is nearly finished and I will have to have a mingy breakfast etc, etc.

But this morning I just sat there and enjoyed being in my life and aware of myself sitting there, while the thoughts and feelings flowed in and out and my breathing expanded. Nothing to run from, nothing to avoid. Nothing to hope for, nothing to fear, everything right there in that moment. All the Maryness and Marylessness possible right there and then.

Consciousness is more interesting than I would have believed. Considering I spent most of my life desperately seeking obliviousness.

So I'm getting on with the day. Rain pouring down so I can't walk anywhere. A leak dripping into a bucket in the kitchen, but slowly. Not enough yoghurt to moisten the muesli. But I have access to a computer, I have a house lined with books like a quilted coat of many colours, a garden spongey and green from rain -- and I have a modicum of inner peace.

So I'm carrying on, just trudging and letting the feelings come and go. Our neighbours have given us four litres of freshly squeezed Eureka lemons in great big ugly jugs. And that means adding sugar, boiling it up and making lemonade, or, to be more accurate, organic lemon syrup to drink on spring evenings out in the garden. Life is blessed if I can open myself to that blessing.

Some of you might have disinterred  earnestly about the person who had been scandalized from that trivial 'teka-teki'.Nice guessing to those who had made a fastidious guess and thanks to all fallacies - You all really made my days that for the whole 3 days,I couldn't help myself sputtering out laugh and really took time to quell with it!So now,I will officially make a revealing insight into it in the hope that there will be no more far-fetched scandals!

I haven't got myself engaged!It's my brother.

All praises to Allah - with His blessings,my brother,Fairuz bin Asmat with his fiancee,Nor Azaridah binti Hj. Ahmad Azahari had their  engagement of glory on the 23rd of August 2008 at 10.00am,blissfully held in the fiancee's house spick-and-span.

Simultaneously,prayers of thanksgiving and tahlil arwah had been conducted in our home before the ceremony started out.All spectacular guests arrived our humble home at 9.00am++ and due to the limitation of spacious,the men were seated at the house's garage whilst the ladies were ushered into the living room.Not a smidgen but quite a brimful of people that I had to cram myself reluctantly,flouncing in and out the house to take pictures.

Ayo,he realised that I was going happy-snappy!

We just had a simple elevenses instead of heavy meals.Menu for the day:

• Mee Goreng Mamak
• Ayam Goreng Berempah
• 3 Choices of Traditional Malay Cakes (Kuih Talam,Kelupis Pulut with Sambal Udang Kering & Bingka Ubi Kayu)

We had Agar-agar Santan and Kuih Chara (I don't know if you had ever heard this kuih's name) kindly made by my two aunties.So sedap!Yes,everything will taste sedap when you are emolliently femished kan?I just plonked the platters and scurried out from the garage as the guests started to flounder around the food en bloc.

Guess what,I have another silent reader of my blog!She is my aunty!I was gobsmacked a tad feeling inside me as she told me she really likes my blog and asked me to take a picture together.Gosh,I don't know if she had gone through some outrageous entries that sometimes I used to merepek-meraban itu ini.

Aunty Rokiah:Don't forget to put this picture on your blog, ok darling?

Me:Of course,aunty.My digicam really knows who is pretty and who isn't and it only clicks for pretty people.

This is for you,Aunty..

The forever grandeur Datin Hajjah Rokiah

Shortly afterwards,it's a photography-taking-session and everyone nonchalantly possed with a vengeance in front of the seven effusive trays.Yes,it's seven berbalas sembilan dulang as you can see in my previous entry.For the fiancee:

• Sirih Junjung
• 18 karat of white-gold-diamond ring
• a hundred note and 200 pieces of 50 cents coins
• a Velentino  trousers and a quater-length-sleeves casual shirt
• Charles & Keith  sleek-brown high heels and handbag
• Fererro Rocher chocalates which were gorgeously arranged into a treasure-box
• A blackforest cake adorned with pinkish roses

They know they have really elfin faces.Thus,they asked me to take a picture of them.

5 of us in a family.Which one do you desperately longing for?Choose wisely.

Suddenly,we got the jitters as we started to move out.There were not enough dayang-dayang to bear the seven trays!My sister had decided 7 persons which were 3 from her ex-scoolmates and 3 from couzies and 1 by herself to carry the gift trays.She had made phone calls to all her friends to reconfirm two days before the ceremony and it turned out quite a transfixed shock as one of her friends thought she was only invited her in a way of 'ajak-ajak ayam' and she didn't show up!Thus,not to bugger things up,I volunteered to carry the sirih junjung and being the solely awang (not dayang) wasn't that bad even though I could feel tiny warmth prickles on my face slathering over.

Aunty Kiah was the first one who arrived in front of the fiancee's house and me being the last one.For your information,in Malay wedding's culture,Sirih Junjung has to be the kepala of all the trays and the person carries it thus to be the leader.Realising that I was the last person,they couldn't proceed until I arrived.Alarmed,the guests were plenty than I'd expected.Don't believe me?This proves:

Relatives from negara orang kaya di gadung(Fancy name for bruneian lah!),Kota Kinabalu,Labuan

Upon seeing such a grandiose people,I couldn't anymore suppress my outre.Surreptitiously,I handed the sirih junjung over her and no cajoling at all!Guess who?

Notice the woman in front of the row?Exactly it's not a dayang.It's a Mak dayang-dayang!That's why she always looks pretty and elegant.Kan Aunty Kiah?

Then.the ceremony started off with a heart-warming opening brief spoken by the Uncle on behalf of the fiancee's family and followed by ours, respectively.It was effervescently spoken and the ceremony ended not more that 30minutes.Simple and understandable.

Coming up next was the slip-ring-on (menyarung cincin) ceremony and the fiancee headed down off to the living room:

Cantik kan?The first time I saw she made the makeover on her face.Elegant!

The ring being slipped on

Not just shake,you have to bow and kiss on the hands

Next is your Mum

Follow-up was trays exchanged and there were 9 gift trays for the fiance:

• Sirih Junjung
• 9 karat of white-suasa-diamond ring
• A Samping and Hugo clothier Baju Melayu
• A towel with Selamat Bertunang initials
• A basket of mixed fruits
• A Velentino wallet and a belt
• Chocalate fruity cake
• A Velentino casual uniform and black slacks
• A pair of Renoma leather shoes

It wouldn't be a splendour without the family's piccies:



The fiacee's family.Parents,granny,sister-in-law and 7 siblings!



To many pictures taken every angle and we couldn't decide who's 1st and who's 2nd.Notice the two guys behind?That's the outcome.



We took en masse family's pic from both sides mama's and babah's family

The fiance?The fiance?The fiancee's mum kept on asking me if abang was around.I could hardly tell her his whereabouts.No sign of his Fortuner at the parking-lot nor his batang hidung.So,my sister made a call for him.Where had he gone?These would reveal:





Yes,he appeared with flower bouquet toting on his hands he just took it from the florist.He told me he wanted to be as jiwang and macho as he could by handing over the bouquet straightfowardly to his fiancee.Jiwang ke?Macho ke?

We really were very starving and the gluttonies really knew their job well.Menu?Didn't even care!



Amongst all the dishes,I was enamoured with this.Guess what again?



The heavenly colorful Kek Lapis!

Then,off we went back home.But it wasn't the end of the day.They still wanted to pose for the camera.Not THEY but WE:





Even the siblings were being bullied:



And the tedious one was:



Whilst he was brandishing his i'm-engaged-ring proudly.Makan hati!



who's next?Rahsia kerajaan dan tertakhluk di bawah hak cipta kerajann.Let the time decides!

What would you expect to receive from your aquitances and relatives who were invited to your house for such occasion?We received cakes.Three cakes.Yes,THREE.



Chocalate fruity cake



Cocktail fruity cheese cake



Another Cheese cake

Don't count the calories.Just be a nice 'pelahap'!

Received confirmation of my meditation retreat booking and looked doubtfully at the requirement to get up at 4am and sit on a small cushion in a draughty hall with only a shawl or cape for warmth, as well as being reminded that the last meal of the day will be at noon (oh, that simple vegan bowl of brown rice, tra-la) and 10 hours a day in silent sitting practice.

Is that an exhilarating challenge or a daunting invitation to masochism? Well, it will clear the sticky emotional cobwebs away if nothing else. I can foresee my bad temper reasserting itself in no uncertain terms. More scowling than satori.

This morning I am going through to the small town of Worcester at the head of the Breede River valley to get some basic supplies. Then a light lunch up at a wine estate restaurant overlooking the amphitheatre of  vineyeards below the mountains. Soup and a slice of bread and we can't really afford it, but it will be a chance for Una and myself to reconnect as friends and housemates.

The Greek root of the word 'nostalgia' is noster algos, meaning 'to look homeward with longing'. I am missing Wales as if somebody has stolen that countryside and the chance to experience autumn from me. I feel cheated of seeing another season there, of revelling in that beauty.  This is not a rational feeling, but it goes deep. And with the longing and missing and feeling cheated, there is a bitter grief that things could not have been different between S and myself, that the love did not take root and grow. That too seems unfair and there is nothing to be done about that unreasonable feeling either.

And it is also true that I am grateful to be here and sober and having a chance to be present to this actual reality around me today. To be there for others, to notice new opportunities, to live this one life fully. Taking a deep breath and letting go of the daydreams. Not pointless longings, but a distraction from my life as it really is. Let the rain come down.

How easy it is to default to dualities, to see the world in terms of either/or. As two readers reminded me, we always have the choice of seeing two (or more) things as mere components of something much larger ... instead of as narrow opposites, as items in collision. So when I view this chance encounter as an opportunity to learn and cast both women in the role of teachers, then everything opens widely and fear dissolves. To that I vow to be faithful.

Excuse me for revisiting an old blogpost, but it's one of my favourites, and today I came across a fascinating article in the Independent which supports it very neatly. It includes the great quote:

"In truth, crying isn't weakness, it's a relaxation system in the human organism," says Hodson, "In order to function, we have to function with our emotions, not against them. You cry when tension needs to be dissipated. If we don't use this system we're not being very intelligent."

So with no further ado, allow me to repost my 10 tips for men on what to do when the woman in your life is crying...

1. Don't panic. You are not going to drown. Your girlfriend/wife/partner is not going to dehydrate. The only really important difference between someone upset with tears in her eyes and someone equally upset without tears in her eyes is that the first scenario tends to make many men freak out... it's just salt water, guys!
2. Do not attempt to get her to stop crying. This will happen in its own time, but more haste, less speed. The problem is not that she's crying, the problem is that she's upset. Focus on trying to understand why she's upset.
3. Establish reassuring physical contact - hold a hand, give a hug, find a tissue. Best to keep it non-sexual at this point though - chances are fairly high she's really not in the mood. Kissing away tears may be a very sweet gesture, but a woman will generally appreciate it more after you've attempted to talk about what's going on.
4. Talk about what's wrong. No, wait: ask, and then listen, and then talk.
5. Never, ever, ever tell her that she has no reason to be upset or tearful - this will make her feel so much worse that it is an incredibly bad idea unless you want to prolong the weeping.
6. Provide sympathy, not solutions. Do not attempt to solve her problems or feel under pressure to do so. After crying, most women will get on with sorting out what is wrong, though it's always good to offer to help if you can and want to. But this is far less important than giving her time to express the emotions she's feeling, and letting her feel that she has been heard and understood.
7. If you're feeling upset or uncomfortable because she's crying or because of what she's said, say so and say why. A solid and dependable rock is useful at times but it's often nice to have something a bit softer to cry on! Important caveat - try to avoid giving the impression that what you really mean is, "I'm in an even worse situation than you and look, I'm not crying".
8. Try to remember that she's almost certainly not doing it just to make you feel bad. It's easy for a woman to underestimate just how difficult a man can find it when she cries, particularly at the moment when she's actually crying! Yes, I'll admit that some women do use tears to manipulate men by making them feel bad, but do give her the benefit of the doubt until you notice a consistent pattern. It may help to bear in mind most women can't stop and start their tears on demand! Also, tears only succeed as a manipulation device because men tend to ignore points 1, 2 and 6, and get so desperate that they'll do anything to stop the tears flowing! So this advice should work either way.
9. Remember that tears can be triggered by a lot of different things - from serious trauma to mild frustration to hormones to a sentimental film!
10. Crying in someone's presence is also a sign of trust and openness. So if you care about someone, try not to make her feel uncomfortable about crying in your presence. Nobody likes their partner to be upset, but if she is, would you really rather leave her to cry on her own?

Disclaimer: These are sweeping generalisations based on grossly oversimplified gender stereotypes. My only claim to expertise is my own experience, but that has given me grounds to think that these suggestions might be useful to a few people out there....

(Photo - Tear!, originally uploaded to Flickr by ::: *TearS* :::.)

Reading through vegan recipes for creative ways of working with very simple grains and beans, a few vegetables. This style of cooking rather exhilarates me once I get over the 'too poor to buy red meat' sense of deprivation. I have soaked black beans and will concoct something with garlic, chillies, lime, broccoli and carrots. Slow food is very satisfying to prepare and eat, and when I looked out of the kitchen indow this morning I saw that the rosemary bushes are flowering that lovely deep blue the Irish call 'Mary blue'. My heart lifted just to see that blueness.

A friend asked me yesterday in an email about how I manage to stay centred and  not overwhelmed by loss or anger. There's something I needed to put into words and say quite clearly. I'm talking here in this blog and in emails about the ending of a relationship and consequent feelings of hurt and loss -- but I am not talking about abusiveness or violation or trauma.

I have endured that kind of violence before, both in prison (under the struggle against apartheid) and in my childhood with a very disturbed father and battered mother. That is something very, very different and raises issues that for me have required adjustment therapy and post-traumatic counselling.

This break-up is painful and full of awkwardness, full of feelings to do with misunderstanding, rejection, broken trust and disappointment,  but it is not traumatic or overwhelming. The only thing that would make this frightening and 'out of control' for me would be if either of us were to start drinking and acting out against one another. Fractured and erratic exchanges between active alcoholics are, in my experience, nearly always abusive and traumatic. When they are not pathetic and absurd, that is. Drunks can turn anything into grubby bathos.

In quiet times (and there are plenty of those right now) I'm thinking things through. Talking to those I can trust, who have known me a long time. Keeping boundaries straight. Looking at patterns around intimacy and psychological space, looking at friendship, thinking about acceptance.

I'm reconnecting with those in my village and with the messy, chaotic, creative and challenging realities of South African politics and civic life. Feeding myself and my housemate, taking care of household stuff. Doing the bodywork that keeps me in touch with thwarted energies. Reading and writing.  Gardening and walking. Letting the deeper fears surface and just listening to what they are saying. Nurturing the 'conscious contact' with my Higher Power.

Hoping to see the way forward more clearly as time passes. 

Some days are better than others and I have always enjoyed Fridays. There will be friends to see this weekend. Exciting things to do with lentils (Joke). With luck, a little spring sunshine. And one of these days the healing  will start.

Congrat to Erica and Chris! It was a lovely wedding, everyone had such a good time. I stayed till mid-night when I ran out of memory (20 GB, I brought A LOT of CF card) , but by the time I left most of her friend are still dancing! They are such a riot.

Erica hired me as a second shooter, she wanted photojouralism style candid because they are interesting and fun. Good news to me, since it is probably the only style I can do! Just kidding, but I do prefer the quirky loving candid over stuffy formal posed shot.

Yesterday I spent time in the company of a women who struck me as intelligent, beautiful, artistic, mature, vulnerable, and deeply spiritual. As I became aware of attraction and longing, a nagging voice warned of the betrayal I’d commit if I were to even think about letting go of sadness and the memory of The One I’ve been grieving over these past seventeen months.

The Buddha taught that by becoming aware of desire, we free ourselves from identifying with it. “Longing, felt fully, carries us to belonging,” writes Tara Brach--

“The more times we traverse this path … the more the longing for love becomes a gateway into love itself. Our longing doesn’t disappear, nor does the need for others. But by opening into the well of desire—again and again—we come to trust the boundless love that is its source.”

print source: Brach, T. (2003). Radical acceptance: embracing your life with the heart of a buddha. Bantam Books, p. 156.

The scent of your perfume,
Has its undying bloom
The way you smell,
Is putting me on spell

Whenever I hear your voice,
Its like youre the only rejoice
Loveliness of your tone,
Is the only sound I own

Every time I touch your face,
It feels like Im in space
Whenever I stroke your hair,
Inside me wants to flare

Each time I kiss your lips,
It doesnt run out of its appeal
I like you more than ever,
But of course I love you forever.

In order not to be destroyed by the wounds inflicted by that imperfect human love, we must trust that the source of all love is God's unlimited, unconditional, perfect love, and that this love is not far away from us but is the gift of God's Spirit dwelling within us. - Henri Nouwen

A lot of times, we focus on the day to day activities; the "what's in front of us" and the "what we gotta do to survive". The reality is that everything we see is NOT the most important. I know this because most recently this past summer (you can read about it in the Psycho Babble section) I felt hollow inside.

I was being Little Miss Ambitious on the outside and forgot to nurture my Soul. We are all spiritual beings having a human experience. I am sure you have heard that before. This is the truth. As much as we would like to believe that money makes the world go round or be as important as air. This is not the truth.

If we don't have a thump in our chest that tells us that our ticker is still working, we would be dead. So there is something going on behind the scenes that needs daily attention. Our connection to Our Source for life must continue to be nurtured.

In LA, I did not pay attention to my Spirit and after 3 months of ignoring, I was hollow inside and needed to refuel. I did not properly prepare for that long time away. Everybody has their own way for connecting to Our Creator. Everyone has their own way of making certain that they are grounded and in balance with ones life. In a matter of 3 days, I felt at least 50% back to normal and in about a week, I felt 95% back to balance.

Here's what I did (If you are facing a similar situation where you feel truly defeated, hollow inside, and helpless, you need to nurture yourself) I challenge you to try what I did or make a healthy, positive way for you to do it on your own.

[Please keep in mind that I am not a pastor or minister and my ways are a bit unorthodox~ but whatever works. Right?]

1) I recognized I had a problem and needed to nurture fast

2) I changed my venue and quickly within hours went back to a familiar place where I knew I would be nurtured and loved

3) Saw my Grandma and other family members so that I could laugh and get hugs.

4) Turned my phone off and did not talk to anyone but those I knew would feed my spirit with positive conversation. I ignored all of the possible phone calls that would turn negative and did not feel bad about it. At this point, it is about self preservation.

5) Immediately began to pray to God for rejuvenation and a revitalized Spirit.

6) Decided to get back into a balanced routine.

7) Followed this Routine in this order every day:

Nurture Spirit (Thank God and be grateful for waking up this morning)

Read Daily Affirmations (Clear your mind while reading)

Take Care of your Body (go for a walk, take a shower, eat)

Clear clutter and clean environments (house and car)

Take care of your money matters (make money related phone calls, go to work, focus on career)

Nurture your Relationships (loving, inner circle)

Talk to Close Friends as needed. (Wait until after the first week to call them. Maybe allow one supportive friend in)

[ I would be happy to sell to you my full routine and my over 100 daily affirmations that I use for $3.00. I am raising money for my film, otherwise I would give this plan to you for free. LOL!] You can email me directly at: jamilacrockett@yahoo.com

LOL!

8) Lastly, do something loving for yourself like sample your favorite candy or foods, at a minimum. Don't over indulge. Be kind to yourself and do special things just for you.

9) Keep negative thoughts and people away from you. Most of all don't feel bad or guilty about it.

10) Move forward with things that you've always wanted to do, especially things that will make your life better in some way.

I genuinely hope that you heal and nurture the best way for you. As we continue to rebuild ourselves and arise from disappointments and frustrations, we get better and every time we do rise higher and smarter. I truly believe that.

Peace and Blessings,

J

Up on the mountainside in the informal settlemnt there will be people dead of exposure, elderly men and women, and small babies. Those with Aids or tuberculosis. The weak and vulnerable, huddled on stretches of damp cardboard under corrugated iron roofing, with only newspaper for insulation. Later this morning I shall see if we have any extra blankets or old towels and take them up to the municipal offices for distribution, but I think we gave away all we could find to give last winter. So much more is needed, beginning with decent housing, electricity and water.

More heart, more compassion, more awareness. I awoke from dreams of holding a tiny child, raw and flailing its small fists, howling like some crazed hyena but beautiful all the same, a sight that brought m immense joy. Surrogate motherhood, I suppose, the maternal instincts so long suppressed in me. But also the mothering of myself and that raw wounded place in me that is also a place of mercy and wonder.

It is the beginning of September and the first day of spring. My housemate tells me she is longing for the first asparagus of the season, steamed green and white spears wth a little unsalted butter.

The flower sellers in Adderley Street in Cape Town will be selling bunches of scented wild freesias and lachenalias, haemanthus, red and purple moreas and those exquisite viridian ixias that grow near water. The colour of green and amethyst, fine as glass.

It is a brilliant day to be sober, brimming with gratitude, in my right mind and with a chance at achieving right relationship, feeling reverent and awe-filled, walking in beauty.

Now I shall wrap up in thick woollen scarves, stripy mittens, an extra sweater and a big blue jacket and get outdoors, take a closer look at the snow.