PJ's and Wine

Ah, there is nothing like PJ's and wine. (That sounds like a rock band...). My son has gone to bed, and the there is not a sound from the outside (except maybe the random bird twittering in the distance). The only thing my senses are picking up is a lovely sunset, my partner typing away on a new poem with glowing eyes and deep concentration, dry white wine, and my soft cotton PJ's against my skin. An atmosphere I wouldn't trade, not for many other things... (Now I wonder why I put 'only' at the beginning of the sentence, as I come to realise the richness of the moment). The best things in life are not free at all, a lot of hard work most certainly goes into it. To have, keep and treasure the love affairs with ones beloved partner one must make sacrifices and take risks. To have a son falling asleep so peacefully one must devote oneself endlessly and entirely to the little creature, and that might come easily, but certainly not cheap many times. To drink the nice wine one enjoys, and wear the PJ's one likes, you must spend more than half of the day away from home, family and other pleasures. A good wine and pyjamas one surely does not get without a monetary exchange. To watch and enjoy the sunset, I guess, one must be able to see the sunset, and for that, one must be lucky. Lastly, for the fullness any of these things might behold, one must also be in good health and reasonably happy. So, there is nothing like PJ's and wine. Simply because there is nothing like Pj's and wine.

PS. I've started on the first chapter of a story about love. Will post as soon as complete. The story might be fiction, and it might not be, but no names.

Update(s)

Hi. Me again.

I have posted a few poems, or 'poems', on beingxara.wordpress.com.
They're old ones, but I thought I should start somewhere so there they are. So, that is one update.

Second.
Today me and little Elliot took a walk in the park in the pouring rain. It was kinda' nice actually. The air smells so fresh when it rains, don't you think? So, I guess me and my son had a date with the rain today. Update.

Goodnight.

Yet another Blog

Hi.

I now have a second blog. That will be the place where I keep my (trying to be) productive side. So forget about me posting anything very ambitious, other than life stuff, on this site. The other blog will (at least for now) contain my interest in writing on favourite things such as the brain, and possibly some other scientific topics, and erm... writing, i e "poetry", stories of my own and thoughts on other peoples'.

Anyways, take a look at beingxara.wordpress.com

I don't know.

Today my little family went to Ikea. It's funny how I don't like it, but still somewhere deep down inside of me I do, and that is just the way I feel about Sweden too. Although I was born there, I don't feel very Swedish somehow. I always had a 'thing' for England, something I just cannot explain. But even so, there is something about Sweden that haunts me, follows me wherever I go. Sometimes it feels like a summers breeze, other times like one of those days you sit inside staring out the window knowing you will freeze if you go out there. Not only places, but people can do that to one too. It is always there, if you are parted. No matter how hard you are trying to 'get away', you just can't. I make it sound tragic, but it really isn't, quite the opposite. It is also a security. When you have that feeling, as something so sweet tasting yet knowing that it will turn bitter if you suck on it for too long, it can be difficult to know which path to take. It's what keeps you going back, and what will also make you leave soon again. It takes time to learn just how much you can take. I guess one can only listen to ones instincts, the gut. I trust the gut the most. There is no point trying to intellectualise these things... Because, it is simply not rational, and it is not suppose to be either. That would take away all of the beauty in that lovely, warming summer breeze you will get to experience over and over again, going back to the place and also when you leave.

Matriarchy

When I studied Anthropology I had this teacher who told us a story from the times she lived with a people in the Sahara dessert. To them, she was not a woman. And not just by description, she really was not a woman to them. Why? She was too thin, and she worked. These people, who are a Matriarchy, live a life that circles around the women. The woman do not need to do especially much, their task is more or less to sit and get as big as possible as they are making things. The man works his butt off looking after the women and children. The women make all the important decisions. My lecturer told me she tried to prove to them she was really a women by talking about her menstruation cycles, but no, she was just not a women. When she had spent her time there studying these people, and she was to leave, she was given two gifts by the children. She had them with her to show us one day, and they were so colourful. Yes, indeed very beautiful gifts (well, at least one of them). One was a female doll that they had dressed with very pretty fabrics, stuffed it with material to make her as big as possible (symbolising wealth and wisdom), and different colour beads to mark the eyes. It was sure a very creative piece. But, where was the male doll? Oh yes, she was given one of those too. She got it out of her bag after everyone in the class curiously wondered what it would look like, and what was it? A stick. It's funny to me... The toys that these kids make themselves and often play with, both boys and girls... They make a wonderful one to represent the women, then just pick up a stick, any stick, from the groud to represent the man. It is not saying who is better than the other, just who is considered to be more important.

Anyways, not an opinion of mine, just a story (life fact amongst these people).

Sunshine and slight pessimism

Hi,

Alright, enough! I’ve had it. I will, ok dad you win. I will try this blogging business after all… I have been fighting it long enough now.

So then… why on earth have I decided to start now? I mean, it’s not like I have more time on my hands to waste. Both time and hands of mine are busy changing diapers, wiping mouths, being a good partner and mom (trying to be a good partner, think the mom business is working out so far…), doing a degree, trying to somehow keep my head above water (i. e. making money), and the list boringly goes on like that (my life is, I guess, like most peoples’ lives)… I am not complaining! Love every minute of it, just about.

The plan (or ‘plan’) with keeping this blog is, should be, to give my story. Write about being Xara. I don’t know, and I don’t really care, why that would be interesting. I am doing it for myself, as I, just like the rest of you, need to talk about yourselves. Or…, we all want to sell ourselves. Some people just take it a bit further than others… So, I am writing about my stories I feel are worth talking about, thoughts about them, and will publish here. In short, why one can love someone 34 years older without being strange (or not), life as a mother, daughter, and sister, successes and failures, struggles and ambitions, thoughts from a person living, or not living, life. And who knows, maybe I write some stories and poems too.

I bought an album today, King Creosote’s newest, ‘Flick the Vs’. As soon as I have listened, I sure will let you know if it’s worth anything (else than Mr. Creosote’s own satisfaction). And if you have never heard the guy before, I recommend strongly that you should! He is an extremely talented, incredibly creative, Scottish man.

Ok, you know what, the sun is shining today, so I am taking my son under my arm are we are off out! Bye.

A good word for you: “Ooo-…oooh” – Elliot