Day 4 - D for Decoyed (by the view)

By the little town off the bay

Blue waters spooning the skies,

Endless horizons diffuse ahead

A soul grazes on the elegance

Lost like it is finally found.

The plans go awry

Bessie waits patiently

Cuddled with Matt

Secure in some cozy grey corridors,

Waiting to be formed,

That disciplined child of a slipshod parent.

That's the thing by great fortune

Genetics defy the conceptions of the mind.

As do plans and pledges.

So for now, it is the worker Bee, all besotted 

Wrapped in herself
Wearing the borrowed Queen Bee tiara

Stuffed with the fluffy tissues of the scenery

Unwrapping the present,

Feet up, spirits high and the heart smitten,

Living an intended pun.

Pictured - The inspiration that dodges the plans of drawing Bessie and Matt

Day 5 - E for 'Even if' instead of 'But If'

Day 5 - take thousand and five. I kind of stopped gasping at the passing of time lately. I remember 2009 like yesterday, wondering how quickly the decade went by and it is - well - 2019. So day 5 sounds like a smaller progression, but given all the things that demand my time lately, I am glad it is day 5 without even a remote idea of wanting to flake out. I'll pat my back, if I can do so myself. May be that's the best way of doing it, By ourselves. As I noticed, if we don't love ourselves, we somehow convey it loud and clear, like we have a tattoo on our heads screaming "I don't love myself, you don't need to love me either" - Unfortunately, it acts as an instruction for others sometimes. So love yourself people - pat your backs, apply emollient stuff on those cracked heels and wear a tiara, even if it slips on to your eyes - in which case, close your eyes and re-purpose it as an eye mask and take a power nap. But be humble - like it goes - "Be humble, or be humbled! ;-))"

Paragraph 2 and we are on the digress spree. So I was supposed to pack off Bessie and Matt for a few days, till I got back home from the break. The things I got to see today were nothing short of an immense blessing. It was numbing. In a very good way. Beach, Bridges and Mountains - all in one place, sapphire waters, aquamarine skies, emerald meadows, wildflowers in shades of citrine quartz - it looked like the planet had a party dress code to doll up in jewel tones. It is hard to get things done when one is in multitasking mode, But then there aren't a lot of things working in my blogging and sketching favor anyway, so why let this deter it? Right? There isn't enough talent going on here, or imagination, or even preparation anyway so the 'Even if' sentiment comes into play.

And as I googled to take cues from Watterson's work, many out of focus details forayed into focus. I think the referencing taught me a thing or two about sketching kid faces. Chubby, eyes close to give the 'cute as a kitten' look, foreheads taking up sizable real estate and just a little fleck of a line for the mouth. The hair becomes the signature of sorts - so, in the process of evolving Bessie, I am still clueless how her hair has to be worn. 

OSoon as I thought Matt is getting there, I realize he looks like Hobbes dressed in a Simba costume and ready to go trick or treating - all that is missing is a jack-o-lantern basket. And just as it couldn't get any more complex, the little brain kept egging a new idea - what if Matt is a dinosaur? I could make him a T-rex with some spikes on the back so we keep the 'Anne Giddes baby pictures' feel intact. And I have to confess, Barney always looked like a toad in an 'amp it up' mode to me, so we might be looking at a toad dressed for October 31st also, but limited resources peeps, limited resources! But as I blog and sketch, there is a fair chance that Matt could become a T-rex and thanks to little blessings that amid all this confusion, his moniker sticks. Nay, there isn't a second thought on it. Matt Damon has to be honored. Full stop. The oil pastels didn't let me go into finer details as they were too smudgy and rich but that shouldn't be the issue of the hour, at least not until I get the final drafts of all the characters ready - speaking of which, I remember, I didn't even the scratch the surface of the supporting cast.

I'll wrap it here, my little monologue. I cannot really begin to thank blogger for hosting this balderdash for so long. They say - dance like no one is watching! Guess what is more liberating?

Type like no one is reading. And it gets that much more easier when no one is reading, easy peasy lemon squeezy :) 

Now this isn't a dismissal for the ones who read, you know who you are, kind souls and you should remain the friends in need.

Signing off from the blessed Golden state - Long live 'Even ifs' - let them live long enough and abundantly enough that buts and ifs get a run for their money.

Like Jordan the great said - Just do it :-D

Day 3 - C for Cut it, curb it - and Life is all cured!

A good ten months ago, I got a memo to really examine what life was all about. If you are a spiritual seeker, it is believed that the universe puts you through the right experiences to evolve and rise above the hokey pokey of human existence. I had those things come and knock on my door and suddenly, I was face to face with the rhetorical questions - Who am I? What is love? What is truth? I started looking far and wide for answers. And in that quest, I probably read the most I read since I was literate. Amazon recorded a meteoric rise in its stocks, and you know why! I was lost in anything and everything related to spirituality -in fact, I, for the very first time in a long enough existence, sat myself to meditate. It was kind of unfortunate that I had spiritual seekers and mediators all around me, but not until it was my time, did I even consider having a closer look at this practice. 

I didn't discriminate - I read Osho, Sadhguru, Toltec wisdom, Celtic wisdom, numerous philosophers, several interpretations of the Gita, Allan watts, Eckhart Tolle, Dr. Weiss, Gary Zakov,Michael Singer, Thich Nhat Hanh and  online resources, watched every Ted talk that skimmed the surface of spirituality and reflected upon every bit of wisdom available to humans to achieve the peace that we are supposed to have treasured within us, as an innate quality. I didn't as yet, finish the Holy Godmother of them all - The autobiography of a Yogi - but you get the drift.  

The kith and kin had mixed reactions. Friends found me lost and changed. Close family had a laugh about it "A phase" they nodded in slow motion as I went about my findings. Some ran the opposite direction every time I opened my mouth suggesting them to try some of the tricks of the trade to achieve peace and joy. 

I started noticing that I was going through a deep cleanse. It was like the surface tension of the mind stayed put like an impenetrable membrane, (not always, but for a good 15 minutes every time I sit and do my sincere attempt to meditate, and that is pretty much an achievement for starters) keeping all turbulence at bay. I am taking little baby steps, but I seem to have enormously aged in the process, I became more tolerant, more loving and accepting of life as it arrives, no questions asked! I falter, but I stay aware and gently pull myself up to awareness, and I hope I evolved, ever so slightly, but evolved to love better and live better.

So if I had to nutshell every thing I read, it is this. Now. Stay in the now. Shun the past, don't dwell in the future. We have an eternal moment - this moment. This moment in which what you are doing is happening. How simple is that? Is there any mincing words in there? Stay in the moment - curb the thought that dwells in the past or into the future. Don't resist what is - give in, surrender. Go with the flow, cause Karma is nothing but resisting what IS!

So simple - but then, as I stayed aware and examined my thoughts, I realized, this is much much bigger than just what it seems like - I felt like those clowns attempting a comedy trying to imitate the trapeze artists in circus. Those wise souls make it look like a cake walk and of course, novices like me would feel it is all figured - until one knows it isn't figured. Curbing the thought for even a few minutes is something that requires seriousness, practice and a strong intent - that's where meditation or mindfulness kicks in. I can go on and on but I know it would probably scare the very few ardent supporters I have in here - so for now, I'll keep mum. And that brings me to the next practice. Silence. It is liberating to stay still, not talk, not even sub vocalize. Try it if you didn't and you'll probably gather energy to rip apart the house and rebuild it - as the mind they say, is the untamed monkey that keeps jumping from one branch of thought to the other, one worry to the other, one narration of being a victim to one narration of being a sob story, one judgement to one opinion as if we are moral paragons. 

And then, I realize, that creating a comic strip is almost as hard as meditation and keeping the mindfulness practice. I spent a better part of today sketching and re-sketching Bessie, ever so often referring to Watterson's works. Boy am I charmed? My admiration is scaling new heights and so is my determination to do my mediocre best an keep up the commitment. Though I do not have sketches to upload today,as they are one too many and none are in their final draft glory, I am happy to record that I did good learning and devouring the multilayered experience of enjoying my favorite Calvin and Hobbes. 

I know it is all a hodgepodge, but the bigger picture is that I am doing it! :) And as far as the answers to the rhetorical questions go, according to a very wise soul - We know who we are when we know who we are not. We know what truth is when we know what truth is not and we know what love is when we know what love is not!

And between knowing myself, and understanding love and truth, even in a very feeble way, I stand here, finally attempting to do the things that matter, with truth in my attempts and love in my heart!

So, C is for curbing the endless chatter of mind and specially the mouth and curing every malady there is - and I mean every bit of it to the last of it.

I'll come back with the Devotion to Do it - and some drawings in tow for day number 4 :-D

Ciao.

Day 2 - B for Box be gone!

 Chole or Chickpeas are an integral part of the Indian pantry. Growing up, my mom made a dry and delicate version of chick peas, tampered in mustard seeds and garnished with freshly grated coconut. This is the quintessential South Indian fare for the uninitiated. As uninitiated as I was, it took me a good two decades to stumble upon the gravyed and vamped up version native to the north of the subcontinent that was supposed to be paired like a match made in heaven with fluffy deep fried baturas. Talk about comfort food. It took me a few more years to get really gutsy with the gastronomic and do something as out of the box as I am infamous for being. So on the fateful Friday evening, when the creative side of me was pining for an adventure, I blazed up my cast iron pot and started prepping for some pindi chole, north Indian style until the wicked idea to use wine in the concoction graced my grey matter.

Now, this experiment was to be consumed and probably was to be judged like an item performed on the stage of "America's got talent" . If it were a scribble on my writing pad that could be shoved under the carpet or a flopped oil on canvas experiment using the palette knife that could be tossed on the top of the armoire, it would have been a little easier..but Life isn't easy, or fair or a judgement free zone for that matter. And I'd never been discouraged by judgments anyway (grin). "If push comes to shove, I'd order a pizza and dump this in trash" I convinced myself but I wanted to take a calculated risk. I tamed down the cloves and the cinnamon that might clash with the delicate flavor of the small lot pinot noir wine that was carefully uncorked and ready to flow into my LeCreuset. 

As a mix of finely chopped onions and tomato puree simmered in olive oil, I threw caution to air and drizzled the wine in. It seemed to blend right in, giving an appetizing bordeaux tone to the monotonous mix. I was doing a happy groove and mixing it away treating it like my magnum opus of culinary creations. As it simmered away in the mixture of chickpeas and gravy, it gathered a rich texture as it sported a luscious color. I was half tempted to hide it and order pizza when it occurred to me that I need to taste it before I toss it. 

I am happy to inform that the experiment was a grand success. A success that didn't leave much of an evidence in the serve-ware. The first born questioned me like a police interrogation if I were to reconsider feeding alcohol to her. "The alcohol evaporates the minute it touches the pan" I reassured her and she, upon due diligence, agreed with me and took a bite. My out of the boxness was once again embraced by my lovely family and friends that graced at the dinner table to be my guinea pigs :))

Thus I gather the courage to branch out in using wine in a south indian baby eggplant dish. I'd keep it on record once it is made and endorsed.

In the mean while, I also sketch versions of Matthew - Bessie's litte buddy. And then suddenly a little voice in my head goes "Hey, why can't Matt be a giraffe instead of a lion?" Truth be told, I am very fixated on the idea of that mane I tell you - It would look like one of those Anne Giddes photographs with a sunflower framing a little baby's face. But with a ridiculous head like mine, anything is possible, Matt could become a hyena for all I know.

For now, Matt is a lion. And I am digging version hashtag 2 - I really love the look of a sunflower as head gear! 

And, I still cannot believe I am as unhinged. Creating a comic strip, and that too by calling Bill Watterson as an inspiration? Do you get this brazen eccentricity? But on second thought - even my Mom doesn't get me sometimes :)

A-Z day 1 - A for A lot of things

A very precious friend of mine called up to remind me of April and the month long blogging fun it brings in tow. So it has become a custom of sorts for me to jump on the bandwagon to keep in touch with the creating side of me, if for nothing else. 

All aboard, so :) 

As I sit here, trying to get a grip on all that I want to create in this month, I experience a calm instead of being overwhelmed. This is a journey I embark to bring to life my many aspirations and having a commitment probably gets that a step closer to manifestation - so notwithstanding if I engage myself in a soliloquy in perfect solitude or if I have the handful of supporters walking along with me,  I make an attempt to find form to my many ideas and this challenge is going to give me the much needed nudge. 

As crazy cuckoo as I am, I wanted to create a comic strip ever since I fell in love with Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes. To me Watterson represents the epitome of talent and creativity. I comb through his every drawing, every word, every pause, every stroke of his pen and gasp at his prowess. And finally, after decades of that awe and an underlying intent to take his inspiration and create my own looney verson of a comic strip, I finally leap here - ending my contemplation, apprehension and self doubt. 

Thus I attempt my process of trail and error creating Bessie - the six year old young lady and her 'friend philosopher and guide' side kick Matt - a lion soft toy. I Initially intended for Matt to be a piglet. I thought it is more easier to draw and weave a story around a lion instead of a piglet, so he becomes a Lion. This is the first sketch of Bessie and Matt - who would probably metamorphose as I write and sketch on this month long journey. I am still undecided if Bessie needs a better hairdo, or she would rock a longer hairstyle or a more expressive face. 

First draft it is, and God willing, it would find its better version as I progress.

Bessie also has a friend Noah, Or Robyn or may be Liam. I am not sure what to call that dude - and ofcourse she'd have her parents and a favorite teacher  Miss.Rose , all of whom would get forms in the coming days.

So here's to Bessie and Matt - a super sincere tribute to my biggest inspiration and  Guru Bill Watterson and my bestie Calvin and his bestie Hobbes :-D

so A it is for Audacity, aspiration and Awe :)

Choice

If words were playmates

I'd tag along with

Fun, wonder and adventure

If words were a buffet

I'd heap my plate

With sharing and gratitude

If words were jewels

I'd wear love around my neck 

And compassion studded on my ears

If words were an abode

I'd pitch my tent by peace and contentment

If they were suitors

I'd serenade unconditional and eternal
If words were friends
I'd choose cherish and support

If words were wedding vows

I'd slip duty and devotion 

As solitaires on my fingers.

If words were garbage

I'd discard judgement and hate

If words were a muse

In nature and creation I'd douse
If words were companions
I'd walk hand in hand with reflection and solitude.

And if they were to define me

These meager words

I'd merge with silence

And connect with the source.

Then I'd renounce my precious words

For I don't need them for once.

Pictured - The mighty tree by the window, Elphinston heritage building.

Allegory

Let's not confine, define

Determine

What could be and couldn't be.

Let the flow emerge

Out of the bounds of the box

Devising pavers 

Out of Polythene.

Hours of merriment, 

Out of the ordinary.

Let's forge

Orderly chaos

Joining mind and mischief

Meeting at the crossroads

Of a red carpet welcome

To this marvel called life,

Streaming with seamed ziplocs.

Let's not confine, define

Determine

Our learning to the sorted and the smart

To volumes of research and thesis

Let's not fit our lesson plans

Into institutions and universities

Instead

Let the inner child reign

Through the sharp turns and blind spots

Galloping the spirit like a winning steed

Feigning funnels as amplifiers

To announce

The victory on our existence.

The 'Mid century Modern' Appeal

2019 kicked off with a lot of intent. I mean, intent was always there in this humble existence but there was a certain grit to manifest things that took form alongside of the noble intentions, that often eluded the dreamer in me. To kick start things, I met with a lot of manifesters around me (if that is a word or not, I hope I conveyed what I intended to convey) For starters, I wanted to start small. "Let's get a writing desk" I thought to myself. Now, the desk in question needed a view, and it isn't a view of the neighbor's garbage containers I was aspiring to have, so things got a little complicated. I skimmed around the perimeter of the house and identified a huge window in the huge guest room down stairs. "I need a room of my own" I announced, "I am fed up of not knowing my own boundaries" The man of the house (Bless his heart) in the sentiment to never deny anything I ask for, said "But ofcourse you need a room of your own, and you have the master suite" 
Now if that isn't manipulation, I don't know what is. I promptly presented my counter argument. " I said I want a room of my own, my space, my desk and my view...something I don't intend to share with anyone, yourself included"

The first born was eavesdropping on the conversation like she normally does on every word I breath. "You are so preposterous mother" She inserted her teen eye roll for added effect. Thankfully a part of my manifestation manifesto was also to stay silent unless the situation absolutely demanded. So I silently ignored her instigation and went on my mission. "I want a mid century modern desk by this window" I announced. "Huh?" came another condescending  interjection paired with the characteristic eye roll from the first born. "Where do you get your fancy ideas from?" 
I ignored it again, much to the first born's dismay. She tried to up her irritation meter but I continued to ignore her while I got on to an online second hand market, looking for a roll top secretary desk, preferably made in the mid century, preferably in like new condition and with all the drawers sliding out well and the keys in full function. 

Soon enough I was eyeing the object of my desire - a near mint secretary desk with a roll top and a functional key in tow. I initiated a conversation with the seller and somewhere down the line, I figured that I needed to drive out of my way to lug it home, or needed to pay as much as for the object itself to get it delivered. Both options seemed far fetched and I promptly resumed my search to find something more manifestable(If there's such a word or if you know what I mean;))

The next time around I found something that had some character to it, it wasn't in mint condition, the key was missing and it needed come TLC..Now, TLC is something that I voluntarily give to everything I cross paths with, why wouldn't I, in the name of holy spirit, not give it to a desk that would aid my sanity? As my writings are my lifeline and when I engage in the soliloquy to preserve the last of my endangered grey matter, this blessed desk was to bear the burden of it all, quite literally and figuratively...

The logistics were figured out soon enough. The man of the house thought through excuses to not use his SUV to lug it home...that's the thing about OCD clean men, they keep their surroundings pristine and wouldn't want an near abandoned piece of furniture to rattle in their car trunk making scuffs and dents to their prized leather seats and interiors. Now, he was facilitating my space, so I had to honor his and I arranged for a lug. Behind all this unfolding, a pesky voice inside my head kept whispering to me that this wasn't going to happen. I swear, I had this strongest of intuitions that the seller was going to have some sort of a "Seller's remorse" and guess what? 
Like most of the times, my intuition did come true. The next morning he emails me saying he decided against parting with his prized antique. I for once did have a doubt about what prompted him to think his almost irrelevant desk is going to fetch him moolah that might aid a retirement. It probably is yours truly's enthusiasm around the said object :)

Back on track - but this threw things off track. I was spending prodigious amounts of time to figure a little detail and it didn't make me feel very proud of the way I was using my time. I had to manifest things and I had to - Pronto. So, I promptly decided that staying married to this idea of a Scandinavian Danish or Swedish made  mid century modern piece of furniture isn't going to pay in the long run. Just as I broadened my horizons, I found this solid teak writing desk that didn't look anything like what I previously wanted, but actually looked more practical and manifestable. 


A few emails down, I was almost there...well, 'almost' being the operative word. And guess what happens? The seller comes back to me saying a local consignment offered him 3 times his asking price...I tried all I could to be my graceful best and said I didn't want to step on his toes if he decides to flake out on his commitment to sell it to me. He did comeback saying he would honor the price, just because....

I jumped on the offer, paid a little more than the asking price to have it lugged to my doorstep, sight unseen. I am known for that kind of decisions, and guess what? The universe has a way of letting trusting people like me win. The other inhabitants of the house were equally pleased with the desk - the man even went to whistle slightly and said "Things happen for a reason, look where your MCM craze landed you - what a handsome desk this!"

The desk, in all honesty, arrived like a dream posing as a desk and as we speak, it gives me this immense sense of belonging and completion while it sits by the window offering me a view of the side yard while housing my paraphernalia and this device that records my banter. It has tell tale signs of a well served past and the TLC it needs, it would get from its current owner, without even having to ask for it. 

I feel like I am operating my own 'Restoration Hardware' and while I type away, I remember my time in Edinburgh where I spotted the cafe in which JK Rowling typed her Potter script during her struggling days. No I am not drawing a parallel between my Goddess and me, that audacity I don't have, but I am just going to say that in my own humble way, like I operate my own humble 'Restoration hardware' I would also sing elaborate praises of my literary Goddess, thinking of how she would have manifested Mr.Potter and his whole shebang in that head of hers - all of this tied down to a desk, a used, not needed one that gets a new lease of life in my little personal space.

Talk about an invisible network like the central nervous system connecting the cosmos...Sorry people, I couldn't resist inserting my spiritual side to the materialistic and mundane :)

Pictured - The Desk that could have been. Please keep checking back for a preview of the  desk that Is :)

A predictable short story

It's been a week of his travels. When she opens the door for him, he gives her the same boyish grin. She doesn't smile back.

BAM... and he knows she is cross about something. 

She gets to unpacking his bags. He holds out a box in front of her, as casually as he is giving her something that she dropped on the floor. Her eyes dart from the box to his as he walks away absentmindedly. She places it next to the suitcase and mumbles "I don't like surprises, I told you a million times" 

He doesn't answer and gets on the phone with someone. 

She looks visibly irritated and he keeps observing her from the corner of his eyes. She drops the clothes on the bed and opens the box. A dainty watch peeks out, with a mother of pearl face and intricately enameled strap. "It's called the Taj" He says. "It looks identical to the one you got me last month, how can you not remember what you had bought a few weeks ago? " She snaps back, her soft voice raising an octave. 

He makes an appearance with a box. "He opens it and puts the watch next to the one he just got. "Look" He says innocently. "This one is a round faced. The one you have now is oval and this is beige enamel and the one now is white"

She gently snatches the two watches from his hand "Oh yeah, I see the difference" She says, her voice laden with sarcasm. "And I'll probably have to wear both on the same wrist at the same time when I do the dishes, so people notice the difference"

Her jibes go over his head..."You can wear them to the park" He offers genuine suggestions. "No" She snaps back.."When I go to the park, I don't dress like I go to the ball - heck, I don't dress like I go to the ball even when I go to the ball, just in case you have noticed how I dress" 

He walks to her and places his hands on her elbows. She gently pulls herself back. " I don't have a lifestyle for your watches, doctor satchels and expensive jewelry. I don't need another watch, and definitely not another dressy gold one, with rhinestones and pearls, and I don't like surprises - did you hear me?"

"Yes. You don't like dressy things and surprises" he laughs. 

                              *******

"I don't like surprises" She announces firmly while she opens the box. This time, It isn't a  gold toned, dainty one. 

"What is this?" She examines it back and forth. "A sofa on my wrist?" 

He laughs out loud. "Where do you get your comparisons from? How does a ceramic strapped watch look like a sofa to you?"

"I'll do the honors one last time. I don't like surprises. I don't wear watches - now please stop bribing me with your materials every time you travel. It is not romantic nor thought through and I don't miss you one bit anyway. I have so much time to read and write and cook while you are gone. I don't sit in the couch waiting for your goddamned business call to get over so you eat, and guess what? I like the break of not doing it" 

"Let's extend the break" He announces with a smirk. Don't wait for me to eat tonight. Go meditate or watch some TV"

"I don't do it to give you company. I do it because you leave a mess on the dining table. You don't put the left overs in the fridge - forget it actually, You don't even cover them. What covering? You don't even look around to see what all I cooked..you just eat whatever is in your eye span though I tell you a million times that the soup is warming in the crock"

"I'll look for the soup today" He vows. 

"I didn't make any soup. Did you want some?"

"No, I'll eat whatever else you made"

                  *******

That night as he walks into the room, she quickly puts away her book and switches off the reading light. He settles next to her and says

"I thought you didn't make the soup. It is delicious by the way..."

"Now, please don't ask me how I made it. I am in no mood to explain the elaborate process of peeling the butternut squash and pureeing it into soup, at this godforsaken hour. It is not like you are going to recreate it for me tomorrow. I am fed up of your conversations around recipes"

He keeps quiet and smiles.

"Besides, you cannot boil water in the tea kettle for the life of you. Last morning you burned the handle of the kettle because you didn't center the base of the tea kettle on the burner. I'd like to see your engineering degree one day. God knows how such simple laws of physics elude you"

"Oh..I am sorry..I'll buy..."

"Oh Plhease, You don't need to buy me a replacement. I'll go get what I like. I don't like surprises for one thing"

"Sure sure" he responds.

"Good night now" She snaps back and goes to bed. 

                   *********

Trip after trip after trip, he keeps getting her things. A series of beige and plaid scarves in one season, One heady fragrance after another in the next season and flashy fine jewelry in the third.

" I don't like bright, primary colors. And pray, when did you see me in fire engine red and royal blue? This dress looks like  it has the fabric that went into the tent on our wedding day"

" I thought it sets off beautifully against your skin tone" He tries to defend his choice.

"Now, please don't apply your expertise in pairing colors. Keep it confined to writing ABAP Programs or accelerated testcases...leave those mundane and useless things to me. I know what I want and what I wear and I don't like suggestions and feed back there"

"Sure" He adds smiling.

                             ******

She gets the door at 9 in the evening, wondering who it could be at that time. 

He looks at her with his boyish smile.

She doesn't smile back, instead she yells at him

"Why are you here now? Wasn't it a 5 hour drive? Don't you have to start at 5 am to get there again tomorrow morning? How many times do I tell you, like a defective record I DON'T LIKE SURPRISES"

He looks like a kid being chided. "I didn't tell you because I know you wouldn't let me come all the way"

"Why did you have to come all the way anyway?"

"I thought you said your back was hurting"

"Yea, so what? Are you going to swap my back with yours? And I don't even know what kind of a back you have anyway now, with all that driving along the windy roads you just did"

They keep silent the rest of the night, curled with their backs facing each other. None of them sleep..

"Can you take off tomorrow and not drive in the dark at 5?" She asks hoping against hope.

" I have to go" he says

Her voice cracks slightly. "I don't know why you do this to me. You are here for five hours and you have to drive ten hours to be here..I keep telling you I don't miss you, why don't you believe me when I say something in that many words? Huh?"

He smiles to himself and keeps silent. "It's okay he says. I can drive back, no biggie"

"Ofcourse it is a biggie, I'll worry myself to no end about how you'd get there and how bad your back gets" she tears up, still facing away.

"It's okay" He adds gently "We got to see each other, That's enough.."

"No sir, It is not enough...you need to put some thought into it. You'll never get how I mean it"

" I do" He adds "Trust me I do. I know you don't miss me, I know you wait for me to finish dinner because I make a mess of things" 

"Good for You" She snaps, and goes to sleep wiping her tears.

                          ******

The next morning he sees her in the kitchen, packing a whole stacks of food into the thermal bag.

"What are you doing?" He asks..."I don't eat that much. Why didn't you sleep? I came so you could rest up a bit"

"Yeah right...I needed you here to rest up, so you could do the dishes, ready the kids to school and scrub the floors, all before taking your 5AM trip back, talk about planning the timing to perfection...No sir, I don't need you to do any of those things, besides - I have high standards for my tasks"

" I know of your standards" He smiles and plays along.

"Please know, for one thing, that I don't miss you AND I don't like surprises"

                         ******

He comes back from his week long trip, She opens the door, looking every bit like Grumpy the dwarf.

As she unpacks his bags, he holds a box out to her...

She rolls her eyes and says "Not another plaid, beige scarf as much as I love plaids, beige or scarfs...I don't like surprises"

"Open it" He prompts

It is a boxy yellow leather bag..

"Where's the sequined coat to go along with it? I'll look like a lady Elvis impersonator while going on my errands to the grocery store or the library, imagine how fun it is going to be! Suddenly her tone changes to a pleading, disappointed one
and how many times Do I tell you, I don't like surprises"

And then She pauses. This is almost futile, this exercise of using his flopped surprises as pretext to get cranky, as a  coping mechanism to her missing him. And she smiles suddenly. May be he is following her instructions and not surprising her after all.... 

Imagine what kind of a surprise it would be if he gave up on surprising her??

They live happily ever after - Him surprising her, and her speaking the pole opposite of what she feels.

Surprisingly, he seems to get that part alright, the unspoken part, beyond the elaborate words she uses to tell him what she wants and feels.

God bless 'Not giving up' on surprising, on not liking to be surprised on each other and everything in between.

Pictured - Noah and Allie, who grind each other's nerves on the surface of a 'crazy about you' simmering beneath.

Guarded

                           

Like a road map to a forbidden treasure

Like an index to book of spells

Scars tell stores

Of forgotten stings

Some tiny, some tremendous

They narrate a whole volume 

Of life lived. 

Like cryptic clues 

To cares and gains

Like windvanes guiding the seas

Scars divulge

The dark interiors

Scars sustained from the rims of hot oven shelves

Burning tattoo like patterns

Scars on knees from bygone days

Of childhood falls and adolescent plays

Scars form hormones blazing the skin

Acne marks unfolding the fledgling

Scars of vaccines,

Surgical incisions announcing the offspring

Scrapes from nasty falls,

Running down the spine

And then some birthmarks 

As a mark of the divine.

Perhaps unhealed from another lifetime.

Scars whisper secrets well kept

Like passwords to guarded possessions.

But these are ones that meet the eye.

Those concealed ones, in the troughs of one's heart

Those scars shrouded, like tombs of angst, 
like unseen lesions

Lay there, in the hollows of the soul's ocean

With debris of shipwrecks

Seeking solace in the stubborn abyss

Invisible, undiminished
 In unfathomable depths.