It’s to you, Mayte: have a happy day.

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Let’s imagine a meme which is supposed to make us talk about the most beautiful or special fact related to our blog. I am unable to make a choice, but today only one fits.

Júlia was born the same my blog did. And today it’s their birthday.

At first, both were small and discrete, sleepy and quiet.

After a year, they have shown lots of joy, enthusiasm and curiosity.

Both will often follow the roads of feelings aimed by the strenght of literature.

Júlia has her parents, good friends of mine,who have generously authorized my sharing this wonderful pics with you. My blog has me. And neither of them would be the same without the affection of people around.

Júlia gets joyful and excited at the sight of people. She laughs, hides behind the curtain, jumps and puts his father abbility to hold her to the test. My blog also feels in heaven when all of you visit it and leave your warm, intelligent, generous mark.

May Júlia and my blog have a fully happy life, like they have today. And may them also keep all those loving people around forever.

Happy birthday, Júlia Prosopopoeia!

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They both came from Venice. I saw his lovely two-colored look and found him so nice I took him with me.

She came a little after. I ordered her by phone at the same shop he had came from and she waited there carefully wrapped until my parents travelled to that wonderful city and picked her up.

They are unique wooden pieces made by a venetian craftsman whose mother designs and sews the costumes. It’s plain to see the love and care they are made with. Sure you can find more spectacular ones, but for me they are the nicest puppets I’ve ever seen.

During the trip where I met my first wooden friend I visited also Florence, and got fascinated by the Medici family, so I felt that the patriarch’s name, Cosimo, was perfect for him. She is what they call a venetian dama nera (black lady), so Nera was the name for her.

The mean problem is that puppets can’t keep their balance. They laid badly on the furniture, carrying the strings in a mess and the wooden cross either on their backs, heads or legs. Poor things.

My skillful boyfriend is to acknowledge for two priceless stands from which Cosimo and Nera look as great as they deserve. I find them smashing.

And I think that they love eachother. That perhaps the craftsman himself imagined their love story as he carved them. The jester got deeply impressed by the Lady’s dignity and elegance, and she could not resist that funny red-haired boy’s smile and tenderness. She keeps her peaceful, quiet ways, apparently indifferent to her piano mate.

But he never loses his smile because he knows that the Lady, lovesick, left everything behind and crossed the Mediterranean to be by his side. He needs no further proof.

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Jorge Manrique wrote about it:

(…)

…”Allí los ríos caudales,
allí los otros medianos
y más chicos.
Allegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos…“

(…)

Many others have picked this subject. Death is certainly the roughest leveling factor and also the most successful (100% of targets achieved in all previously living beings) but it’s far from being the only one.

Apart from the advantages money can give you when it comes to face difficulties, disease itself is an obvious equalizer. And so is pain. And dependence on those who fasten and unfasten our lives with surgical clamps. And the couch.

Indeed. This huge wheeled meat tray puts all of us at the same level without even blushing. If we are lucky enough to leave the operating room being able to outwit Funespaña for the moment -just for the moment- only those who love us will be able to recognize us. We keep a kind of standard container dignity until our personality, drive, sense of humor and/or foul temper come gradually to us again, through sinister little transparent plastic bags.

My conscience and I get on really well: I don’t provoke it and therefore I’m able to have a peaceful sleep every night. Moreover, my relative happiness indicators -I think complete happiness doesn’t exist- are really few and have a quite high level. However, it’s always useful to have moments in which life pulls our ear and reminds us -whether we are suffering ourselves or just watching someone suffer- that the last thing you can do is look down on everything and everyone around.

No matter how far the other side is, the road to a partial crash is always much shorter, and we won’t walk it following a plan nor for the fun of it. There’s no need to get obsessed, but having it in mind, without any extra effort, we would probably use a new set of values, argue less, and have higher relative happiness levels. To waste a single second hating is to hate ourselves, and the trip is so short that it’s no worth. In the end, as Carl Sagan said with similar words, we are just self-conscious stardust. But it’s wonderful to be so!

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I’m proud to tell you that the història veïnal (neighbourhood tale) in which I have had gladly partaken -this time, writing the beginning of the story!- is already finished and you can read it here.

But this is not the point. The important thing is that in Diari de Barcelona (a newspaper which only exists in digital format) four neighbours -El Veí de dalt (of course) and three HV experts, Carme Rosanas, Anna Ramírez and Jordi Pujadas explained how this neighbourhood stories thing works. The good thing is you mustn’t read what they said, instead you will be able to see them in person thanks to the wonders of digital video. This is all as far as my post is concerned. Click on the link and get amazed at how cute, nice, clever and every good thing they are. I can’t help it, I really feel it. Neighbourhood passion!

THE HISTÒRIES VEÏNALS IN DIARI DE BARCELONA

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He tingut una conversa fugaç amb un matrimoni amic. Ja la continuarem, no hi havia més temps. Tenen dues filles gloriosament intel·ligents que voregen els 30 anys i es passegen per tot el món amb un sac que peta de coneixements i cultura. Total, que m’ha vingut de gust fer un post reivindicatiu.

Ja he insinuat alguna vegada que vivim en la societat de la tonteria. I ho crec fermament. Facis el que facis, sempre hi ha algú disposat a ofendre’s, a queixar-se i el que es pitjor: sempre hi ha algú que té poder de fotre el cop sobre la taula disposat a donar-li la raó i a fer-te disculpar -en el millor dels casos-. Moltes de les pel·lícules i les obres d’art, molts dels anuncis, dels còmics, dels llibres que ara reconeixem com a genials o imprescindibles, o que ens van marcar favorablement al llarg de la nostra joventut, si nasquessin ara no durarien ni mig Telenotícies. Moririen a mans d’alguna associació pro-defensa de l’estupidesa congènita i gràcies a alguna sentència d’aquelles que semblen escrites per un mico amb bolígraf.

En un món que és capaç de qüestionar-se si l’Epi i el Blas són homosexuals i no posar-se vermell, no ha d’estranyar que es barregin naps amb cols. Què tindrà a veure ser conscient de la diversitat sexual i que cal respectar el medi ambient amb una actitud permissiva, tova i absurda?

No m’agrada el sistema educatiu. No m’agrada que avui dia un nen de 10 anys tingui dificultats per llegir, expressar-se o multiplicar. No m’agrada que això al nen no li sembli malament. No m’agrada que no es fomenti la memorització. Senyors, sense mencionar la sobada llista dels Gots, qui em pot negar que memoritzar és un excel·lent exercici per al cervell? Jo diria: “Memoritza, potser ara no ho entens tot, però quan siguis gran sí que ho faràs”. No m’agrada que es pugui passar de curs amb més suspensos que ferro en un plat de llenties. No m’agrada que no es fomenti l’atenció focalitzada en el llibre, que no es transmeti el valor de saber-se estar llegint un text durant una hora o dues, per copsar-lo bé, per entendre’l. No m’agrada que cada vegada es posin menys deures (coi, si jo haig de fer servir l’equip multifunció de la feina deu vegades o més per saber bé com va, i no parlem de les reduccions, ampliacions o configuració del fax!)

El Compadre em va dir un dia, amb molta raó, que queixar-se i no donar solucions és senyal de derrotisme. Bé, a vegades un no té prou coneixements del tema per donar solucions concretes, però mira, ho intentaré i ja em perdonareu si fico la pota, és per ignorància.

Crec que s’ha de valorar més la figura del mestre, com a Finlàndia. Si s’ha comprovat que és un sistema que funciona, per què no el copiem? És que algú té por que els finlandesos ens acusin de plagi i ens portin als tribunals? La professió de mestre hauria d’estar molt ben pagada i alhora hauria de ser de més difícil accés, a part de valorar més les aptituds pedagògiques, en lloc de representar un recurs per a uns quants que no tenen aspiracions excessivament elevades en l’ordre acadèmic i que ho veuen com a una sortida fàcil per tenir una carrera aprovada. Aquest grup ha acabat fent molt de mal als alumnes i a molts professors bons i vocacionals que es troben nedant contracorrent en un sistema creador de paràsits socials.

Ja he dit que cal valorar més els mestres. Però no només econòmicament; també se’ls ha de respectar. Un suspens ha de ser motiu perquè el pare parli amb el fill i l’esbronqui si cal, no perquè el pare vagi a veure el mestre amb una escopeta de canons retallats.

I no m’agrada que la societat on visc hagi evolucionat en aquest sentit. Ja pot ser que m’estigui fent vella, però el meu pare feia equacions de primer grau als 10 anys, la meva generació les va fer als dotze, edat en que ara comencen a dominar la divisió. En un llibre de text actual per a nens de deu anys, per explicar que els ordinadors necessitaven refrigeració, vaig llegir: “a l’ordinador li agraden els gelats”. Una perla en pro de la maduresa. Ja us dic que els nens no van entendre què nassos volia dir allò.

Com hem arribat a aquesta situació? Les filles dels meus amics van néixer en un ambient culte i d’estudi; no sé quina va ser la incidència dels pares en el seu historial. És cert que són molt llestes; segurament tindrien uns resultats acadèmics igual de brillants ara, però desenganyem-nos: els joves com elles són l’excepció. Actualment, un bon grapat de nanos no són capaços d’estar ni una hora davant d’un llibre, però potser se’n passaran dues enviant “APROVAR” seguit del seu nom al 7777.

I aquest jovent necessita que s’estigui per ells, que se’ls ensenyi com és de bonic pensar i interrogar-se sobre el món en què viuen, la ciència, l’art, la literatura, que se’ls obligui a fer esforços i a valorar tant positivament els èxits com negativament els fracassos -sí, no us poseu les mans al cap que no estic parlant de tractar d’inútil a ningú, un suspens és un fracàs, i si el nen no ho entén així tant li farà cru com cuit-.

M’agradaria pensar que les coses poden canviar. Des d’aquí, gràcies als pares i mestres -entre els amics blogaires n’hi ha uns quants- que treballeu per aconseguir-ho. Sou els metges de l’ànima de la societat.

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I’m on holiday but didn’t expect to have time to dedicate to the blog today. Since I have the occasion, it’s time for very special acknowledgments, one of them with a little delay.

The first one is for Kpitana64, my invisible blogger, who introduced herself through nice comments in the spanish version of this blog and finally dedicated me a very personal and touching gift. You can see it here. I had never been at her place before and will often pay her a visit from now on. It all has been really beautiful, and I include the amazing self-portrait she has in her site. Besadetes amb pessics, little kisses with little pinches, Maria!

The second one -the one with a little delay- is the Xmas present Carme Rosanas made to me and to many other bloggers. But don’t think it was the same present for us all. Not at all! Carme is so great that she devoted a little time to dedicate a drawing and some special words for each one. Here you can see the post and admire the presents. You can see mine below, which will remain as part of this blog decoration, in the left sidebar. It’s a long time since I intended to display it here, and am glad to be able to do it now. Carme, thanks, a common word to express really true feelings. A big hug.

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According to the legend, the Wise Men gave the Holy Child myrrh, gold and incense. In this magical night, I want also to give three gifts to my invisible blogger-GIRL, whose blog’s discovering has been itself a gift for me. My dear joineds have helped me doing it, speaking for the first time from the screen. This present is for you:

TIRAI, owner of the blog SUC DE LLIMONA 2.0

(You can click on the image to enter her site)

Firstly, I dedicate you the song that will be playing here until a new post is published: “El mundo tras el cristal”, by Leo. I thought immediately of it when I started to know you. It talks about loneliness but also about some kind of hope for a long time lost tenderness.

First part: MYRRH. MY ROGUE Whity: (I know, it’s a bad joke).

VERY IMPORTANT: BEFORE PLAYING THIS VIDEO AND THE FOLLOWING ONE, GO TO THE LEFT SIDEBAR AND PAUSE THE MUSIC. OTHERWISE, BOTH SOUNDS WILL BE PLAYING AT THE SAME TIME!!

Second part: GOLD. Gold is yellow, like lemons, like lemon juice, like Patu-q. Patu-q loves yellow things. That’s why he wants to talk to you for a litte while. As he speaks Patu-q language, I have transcripted his words below, translated them from Catalan Patu-q and corrected the spelling (maybe you don’t know, but joineds have awful spelling!)

Hola, jo sóc el Patu-q, i també surto parlant per primera vegada per dir-te que tens un blog molt groc i molt bonic. A partir d’ara l’aniré seguint perquè és molt interessant. Encara que mira, mira, “aixòs”, “aixòs” és una llimona, I tu no ets com una llimona perquè les llimones, quan te les menges, mira, et fan fer uix! i , i… i a mi a mi em sembla que tu ets més dolceta, com… com… no sé, com… com… com un caramelet, sí, “aixòs”, com un caramelet, encara que sigui un caramelet de llimona.

(Hi, I am Patu-q, and I’m speaking here for the first time to tell you that you have a very yellow and very beautiful blog. I will be following it from now on because it is very interesting. Anyway, look, look, this, this is a lemon, but you are not like a lemon because when you eat lemons you go ouch! and, and… and I think you are sweetier, like… like… don’t know, like… like… like a candy, even if it is a lemon candy.)

Third part: INCENSE. I think you don’t write nonsense. In fact, you always write in sense of something, either with energy, joy, anger or melanchony. You also turn on a little light that allow us to think about everything, about you and about us all, because in the end you have the guts to let us know how you are inside. As I’m very fond of acrostics, here are two of them, dedicated to your blog and you. And a little drawing at the end.

SUCcessos i pensades, d’això parles,
DE riures i de plors. Ets aigua i lluna,
LLIsques entre les flors sense trencar-les,
MOldejada al teu pas per cada engruna.

NAvegues entre fer i desfer la trena,
DOSificant o no vida i misteri.
PUNTual a cada cita per ser nena,
ZEles la sang perquè sigui a la vena,
ROja i vital, timó de l’encanteri.

AI, que sovint t’aixeques una presa
NAscuda del dolor d’un cor que brama!
EScapa del regust de la incertesa,
CLAva els teus ulls de mel amb una flama,
TIRai o com tu vulguis, sempre encesa.

I hope that all the good and sweet things you deserve come to you this year. In my blog, apart from a link, you have someone to speaking or be silent with, to laugh or to sigh with whenever you feel like to. I also hope you don’t close your window to the blogosphere, but if you finally do, if you get lost in that neighborhood you like so much, leaves a small trace here and there: a curl of hair, an earring, a little piece of blanket -just like Linus-… anything you want. I will, we will be glad to know you’re fine.

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