Life is beautiful. Enjoy it. ---------- I think that this is an interesting project and I encourage anyone to participate: "For 30 days, from October 10 until November 8, Yahoo! users worldwide can contribute photos, writings, videos, audio — even drawings — to this electronic anthropology project. A mosaic of revealing snapshots will be sealed and entrusted to Smithsonian Folkways Recordings based in Washington D.C., officially taking its place in history."
I have grown to appreciate and realize the delight of simple things/moments, which might not have much value in life but at least for me are often the sole cause of internal peace.
I do not know Albert J. Taylor. He is dead, in fact he died in 1980 and I wasn’t even born at the time (I just dated myself).Albert J. Taylor came into my life about this time of the year last year.
I was getting out of work around 5; 30 pm, and as I walked towards my car I noticed that a piece of paper was stuck in the left, front tire. It had been a windy day so I thought that the wind had blown it in the direction of my car and somehow it had been stuck there. I picked it up ready to discard it as a useless piece trash that someone had thrown away carelessly. As I was about to let go of it in the air, I noticed that the other side of the paper had a picture printed on it. I pulled it closer to take a better look and noticed that it was a folded card which wrote “In Loving Memory”. I eagerly turned the front page and found out that its purpose had been to announce someone’s death. On the left side was printed a religious poem, and on the right Albert J. Taylor’s birth date (April 18, 1901), date of death (January 3, 1980) and some information about the funeral services.
It felt strange to hold that piece of paper from a funeral service in 1980, but what I noticed a moment later totally amazed me. The funeral services had been held in Staten Island and New York. Here I was 25 years later, holding that piece of paper in Tampa, Florida. I wondered how it got there. If someone had thrown it away, or if it somehow had flown down here from state to state until it reached Florida. I know it’s quite stupid to even think about the latter, but it also seems strange that someone who might have moved to Florida and had held on to that piece of paper for so long would have thrown it away carelessly. Perhaps I’m trying to create a story when there is no story, but I could not help and wonder about Albert J. Taylor. What he did in his life, what kind of man he was, what kind of temper he had, what his profession had been and what kind of life he had led. I wondered if he had been happy, if he had suffered when he died, if any of his family was still around, if he had loved or if he had hated.
I have held on to this piece of paper in a red box where I place anything memorable. I do not have a sentimental attachment to this piece of paper, but somehow I feel obligated to hold on to it so that once a while I can take it out and wonder about this stranger who came into my life many years after his death. In some bizarre way I feel like this is the least that I can do to still keep his memory alive, although I do not know the man. Albert J. Taylor came to me one October day in 2005.
I woke up and felt that my nose was icy cold this morning. Today the whole city woke up to the first real day of fall. Temperatures were down to the 40’s. It felt nice outside. The air was crisp and it tempted me to take in deep, slow breaths. It’s time to put away some of the summer clothes, take out some turtlenecks, jackets and boots. I enjoy this time of year; it’s a great break from the heat and humidity of the summer. I only worry what the cold will do to my roses.
This Sunday I submerged myself at play with my sister.We went back to being kids again,only that this time we played with cameras and not Barbie dolls.We laughed, rolled on the grass, jumped in the air, wore wigs, put on bright red lipstick that made us feel like true goddesses, hung ourselves in clothes lines and took an innumerable number of pictures. We had a grand time and I look forward to play with her again.
Every weekend or so I visit my grandmother. When I saw her last weekend, I told her about the party on New Year’s Eve, and I asked her if she would dance with me when that happened. She said of course I will, and I was overwhelmed by sadness, kicking myself for even asking that stupid question. What she doesn’t realize is that two years ago she suffered a stroke and is now unable to move or stand up without the help of my aunt. It is a great pain for me to see her at this state, not because she is my grandmother, but because of the vibrancy and life that once existed in her soul. She was strong as a rock, well educated, smart, and one of the most outgoing people I have ever met. Well educated for her meant going to law school as an adult with four children and a husband to take care of, during a time which was much harder then most of you could imagine: communism. As she aged she still maintained the same thirst for life, and knowledge. She was still up-to-date with current events, still active in her home, and always firing up conversations with young and old. Today she sits in a red chair, with a pensive look in her eyes. She will no longer start a conversation with you, but merely talk when she is asked a question and even at that time she will simply state a yes or no. I often wonder what goes on in her mind. What hurts me the worst is to see my father living her present state. Although he once told me that it’s better for her to be alive than dead, I know how much it hurts him not to see her be present in life. My grandmother doesn’t remember much about what happened yesterday or what she ate for lunch, but strangely enough if you ask her about the name of a character in the past or anything about history/geography she will give you the right answer without hesitation. Once in a while when my uncle and dad visit her they start a singing marathon with old Albanian and Italian songs. I think this is suitable for her. She lived her live fully, with passion and dignity, and it would only be fair that she exits this life savoring the best of her past memories.
This little girl recently celebrated her birthday. She is a full 5 years old now and is growing to be a beautiful little lady. It must be scary for her mom to see her grow up so fast, it's hard enough for me. I can still remember when I first met her, how when I told her my name she looked up at the ceiling to see the light fixture (my name in Albanian is easily misunderstood with the word "drita", which means light). It took her a while before she would actually look at me whenever she heard my name. I could take pictures of her all day long. She reminds me of something from my own childhood, my mom says that too, and in some weird way whenever I take her out everyone thinks she is my daughter. I adore her, and I wish her many blessings in this world which is too evil for such a pure little thing like her.
This is a song from a famous Italian singer who is now much older, Gianni Morandi. If you are not Italian or Albanian, you probably have little chance of knowing him. This song is about an American boy who liked the Beatles and Rolling Stone that went to Vietnam and never returned home. I cannot help but think about today’s soldiers in Iraq, are they fighting a second Vietnam?
C'era un ragazzo che come me amava i Beatles e i Rolling Stones girava il mondo, veniva da gli Stati Uniti d'America. Non era bello ma accanto a sé aveva mille donne se cantava "Help" e "Ticket to ride" o "Lady Jane" o "Yesterday". Cantava "Viva la libertà" ma ricevette una lettera, la sua chitarra mi regalò fu richiamato in America.
Stop! coi Rolling Stones! Stop! coi Beatles. Stop! Gli han detto vai nel Vietnam e spara ai Vietcong...
C'era un ragazzo che come me amava i Beatles e i Rolling Stones girava il mondo, ma poi finì a far la guerra nel Vietnam. Capelli lunghi non porta più, non suona la chitarra ma uno strumento che sempre dà la stessa nota ratatata. Non ha più amici, non ha più fans, vede la gente cadere giù: nel suo paese non tornerà adesso è morto nel Vietnam.
Stop! coi Rolling Stones! Stop coi Beatles. Stop! Nel petto un cuore più non ha ma due medaglie o tre
The ocean is the place where I let my guard down. It doesn’t matter that my hair is messy, that I have no make-up on, that I am wet, that my body is not perfect or any other self-conscious complex. It is there that the water caresses me and I allow it take me to places that I have never been before, where I have not a care in the world, where nothing else matters, where there is no controversies or resistance, and where I find the most beautiful blue hues I have ever seen.
It is in the water that I am free. It is there that everything is simplified. It is there that I appreciate the true beauty of nature. It is there where I feel the complete and pure joy of being alive. It is by the ocean that I will wed.
Me: So tell me why is this thing so scary for you? Him: It’s not. Me: Well, you seem to doubt it. Him: I don’t. Listen, it’s like you in the dark. You know how when you go to the bathroom at night and after you are done you turn the light off and then rush back to bed. Are you insecure about the security of our house? Me: That is not a fair analogy. You know that I am scared of the dark. Are you scared of the thing? Him: No I am not, it’s just that…shhh go back to sleep, all I need is sleep.
Sometimes I experience feelings, situations, annoyances, or merely happenings which I find hard to convey to someone else in words. In such occasions I am an illiterate person who stutters to find the right words to explain herself. I wish that the other person could understand me merely by looks or communication via telepathy. It is like such that I feel today and it would be foolish of me to attempt to explain: too much koklavitje!
p.s. per dreke bera fasule, sa kohe kisha pa ngrene! p.s.s. I went to the dentist and as always there is no good news from that office. I have a ton of work to do with them, which doesn’t only mean that I will be “dating” my dentist for the rest of the year (who by the way looks completely like a famous Hollywood actor whose name I cannot remember) but it also means $$$$.
Today marks the day that I am back in the gym...and I suspect that there will be much pain in the days to come. ----- Free hugs for everyone: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0TBDti9BDU
Aren't kids sweeter than cake, ice-cream, or any other candy? ...so pure, so fresh, so peaceful... This little angel is Victorio, and I had the pleasure of spending a day with him at the beach last week flying kites and eating red grapes. How much better can it get? --- Today time is standing still... I had plans for this morning...yeah, I was going to go to the gym and actually work out, but it never happened...maybe tomorrow?
