Numbers Play!

 

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Numbers Play!

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On October 13, 2020, having finished another book, I counted the books read this year, by counting the reviews in my blog. (My kindle, naturally, counts only the books read on kindlè.) 

The number was 98. Last year, counted from March 19th onwards, it had been 39. 

Idly, wondering the average rate thus year, I counted the days until October 13th this year. 

The number was 287. Again, wondering, I compared the two numbers to check the rate. 

It was 14 books every 41 days! 

Numbers are still having fun with me! I realised it when I was 61 in '16, and had suddenly realised having been through 16 leap years, and how rare that phenomenon was. 

Before that, it was buying a ring for a truly amazing price and sudden realisation of the date being mathematically unique every century. Before that, another unique date was that of joining the Pondicherry University on 8th August '88. 

Our wedding date, set by his parents a few years later, was 8th August too, but the year didn't add to the play of numbers that I am aware of yet. 

Wonder what next. 100 books by 20th October 2020 would be good. 

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Thursday, October 15, 2020. 

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Well, 100 books by 20th October 2020 did happen, and too 102 by October 22, 2020! 

Further such numerical wonders weren't easy, since I read a Shirer work - it wasn't just length, but the import as well; and this was his final piece of autobiographical trilogy, which covered several decades of one's own life as a growing awareness and consciousness, so naturally while one read one stopped to reflect how much one concurred and how prescient this author was, and wondering if there was something missing in thst one lived a few miles away for years, was quite unaware of this, much less thinking of seeking an opportunity to see him and hear him. 

But then, after this, it was quite late in the year, and one felt a rush as December brought one close to over 120, but one couldn't get over the 14 in 41 rate! Could one get a better number? There had been books one had read over the decades of reading, perhaps some reviews were yet to be penned? This brought it to 142 on December 31 - one had expected a couple more, but blogger said 142 - and one finished Albert Einstein's The World As I See It, a few hours before midnight. 

A while before, after seeing which Agatha Christie's works I could remember, which I could find titles to where I remembered the book vividly, and then looking for more, I'd discovered that the Amazon site - Shelfari gone a few years now - had about two dozen collections of Jane Austen. Three complete collections being on my kindle, I'd started those reviews. But on Shelfari I would review all I could, and decided I'd do it for the Austen's works - complete collections, to begin with - and thought, why not keep copies of the individual reviews? So there were 23 more. 

Only, funnily enough, blogger decided they were all January 01, 2021, even though the Amazon site noted them published on December 31, 2020! The two separate sets were published simultaneously by me, so it was difference of opinion between sites. I decided I'd use both dates for each of them on the blogger, and leave it at that. 

142 is a number nice enough - 2020 being leap year, with 61×4 days (there's the 61 again), and even 122 books would be nice enough, but since the number was better, reaching for an even better was an effort that seemed worth, however ridiculous! After all, kindle tells me it's eightysomething, and even though several of them were complete collections or anthologies, one with well over two dozen and another with over a dozen separate books, of which one was a collection of 142 stories and another a collection of poems (Montgomery did write a lot, why couldn't one have discovered her before it was so nontrivial to see PE?), still, one didn't argue, one merely maintained it was valid to count reviews. 

Now comes reaction. The newly begun on December 25th, Middlemarch, which I thought would be fast since I'd had the impression I'd seen the film, is quite slow, for several reasons. One, no it wasn't Middlemarch but another Eliot that I'd seen a film, apparently, unless this book is the same but slower than it seems. Two, she's good, but does make one not only go over for appreciation, but also do a double or several take often, with heavy convoluted long sentences that are worth it. And three, I'm in no mood to race 2021, let 2020 win. 

At that, 2021 wins already all by itself, being a product of two consecutive primes, as my other half informed me to our shared delight. But books, kindle asked me for a goal and I set it at 40, one more than 2019; it seems too much at this rate, since I've a dozen or so complete collections of various classic authors, and shall be surprised to finish more than one! So kindle might count it at one. Do I count reviews? Blogger set it at 23 on the first day, despite my racing to have it set at the day before! That mixed it up!

And this, too, is just a few minutes into 11th!

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Sunday, January 10, 2021 - Monday, January 11, 2021. 

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One June 25, clocked 151, in 176 days. Today, June 27, it's 152+1, in 178 days.  

This is despite the massive heart attack on February 17, as discovered by medical authorities on March 6th, when swollen legs and inability to breathe became so acute one lost fear of hospital and surrendered with relief. 

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Silver Celebration.

Silver Anniversary




Our wedding was perhaps unique, in that his family did everything proper, and invited everyone they could - the larger clan of cousins and in laws, neighbours with children and grandchildren, colleagues of intimate family and so on. That was on their part. I still perhaps might not know some of them without a reintroduction "were at the wedding", and then too not for long.

But the unique part was, they weren't hosted by the bride's family, as would be traditional. Instead they had offered to invite anyone I asked and had asked me how many cards I needed. I had on the contrary tried to invite perhaps only a couple of acquaintances, that too those not close to any relatives. Relatives, without exception, were not informed before the event.

After my mother had gone, there were no heartstrings left connected. The relatives had seen to that. So I arrived with him, the two of us from the institute we had met at, the day before the wedding.

When later anyone asked me who was at the wedding from my side, I said, the bridegroom of course, he was on my side.

This is a quarter of a century later, and any efforts to build bridges by pushing anyone's previous misbehaviour under the proverbial rug so to speak, have backfired with vengeance as a rule, with their taking it for granted that any meeting is for them an opportunity to kick, scratch and bite, scream and worse, that they may not find again - and so they have sealed the ttombstones of any possible future to contact with me, at least.

Him, most correspond with, for after all he is a he, to begin with, so he's expected to hit and doesn't. But the wife who neither is provoked into descending to their level nor will take it and smile with gratitude, but will point out that they misbehave, why the female must by kicked and whipped until she learns, for she didn't despite her own relatives abandoning her.
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So it isn't a surprise neither of us thought of public celebrations for our major events, and there weren't too many at that - but each had the sixtieth birthday, and his came this year with our silver jubilee following. And I wasn't sure he would free his busy schedule for the day, but he did, whether due to being reminded by a non committal query - "is it wednesday? What are you doing next Wednesday?", or he was planning to anyway, who knows? He takes as much pride in keeping mysterious as I take meticulous care about telling him everything that is not someone else's personal secret.

And some time a few days before, he casually told about a colleague and friend who had asked to plan a dinner for us.
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Morning was the routine of celebrations - dress up, visit the Ashram, lunch at Taj at their Chinese restaurant. They have stopped the buffet, so it was convenient not having to walk back and forth laden with plate, and relax with a spare lunch - he kept reminding there was a special dinner being planned - so we returned, rested a bit, and then it was dressing while he got nervous as usual about someone waiting. So far, it was wonderful, great, satisfactory, and quite good enough.

Neither of us had expected, it turns out, what unfolded as the evening proceeded. I had half wondered if he had planned a surprise with all relatives and friends, filmy  style, but what came was far beyond unexpected.

His friend met us at the entrance to the hotel and led us to see various parts - restaurants, rooms, pool, lounge - before taking us to a space by the fountain in centre hall surrounded by lifts and topped by the ceiling several stories above, with several tables, where he sat us near the fountain that looked like a dark chocolate cake under a chocolate fondue, and informed us that the whole place was ours for the evening. He introduced us to various people - chef, maitre de, et al - and then proceeded to have one open a sparkling wine (Friscatelli?), after asking if that was ok.

After several minutes, it still wouldn't uncork. So they came and said, they were opening Champagne instead! What's more, it was the same champagne my roommate had brought to my graduation some thirty two years ago. And it was lovely.

Having poured the glasses, they left us alone, except for the unobtrusive waiters who poured whenever the glasses were low, or the next course ready.

And so began our very exclusive experience of a fairy tale romance unfolding through the dishes that were specially invented by this friend of his.
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The very first introduction took us on this trip that seemed more like travelling the Fairy Tale Route in Germany which we as a matter of fact hadn't travelled. He came and set before us each a dish that contained a small cup with clear, seemingly slightly sweet, liquid, with a cone of tiny rosy globules, that he said were time bound - we had to dip the cone into the liquid and pop it into mouth. The rosy vegetarian caviar was scented with Rose, and the liquid was Jasmine.

This, he said, was about a prince in a fairy tale woods coming across a beauty, the meeting so elusive, the fragrance was a bare whiff and gone.

And so began the Fairy Tale dinner for our silver jubilee .
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Next was even more unforgettable. They brought out what looked like a rich  chocolate cake with a green forest floor on top, a bare tree in centre that seemed to have branches made of chocolate, with pink strips waving off the branches decorated with cloudy white. We were not sure if it was only decoration, or dessert already visible, but found the elves on the cake top under the tree enchanting.

Next came the mind blowing beginning.

We were set with two dishes that had unique, curved, rectangular pond shapes, with a beautiful young woman's face and flowing dark hair seemingly painted or otherwise part of the design of the dish, with her hair decorated with a stand of flowers that was our salad - it had tiny orange sections surrounded by salad ingredientss looking like tiny flowers, including beetroot looking and tasting like nothing we ever expected or could imagine. Much as we love the red sweet vegetable, in its boiled cubes simple salad, this was taking us off into another plane.

And then he told us, the painting is food. The young beautiful woman was part of the Fairy Tale dinner, not part of the china!
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The tree decorated with the red strips was next - he said it was filmy in indian style, that was her scarf stuck on the tree he finds - and it was parmesan strips, to be dipped in the grape jelly and another alternative dip he brought, delicious.

Then there was a course that was cottages in foggy forest, small potatoes and tiny mushrooms. It came surrounded by wheatgrass, which led us to talk of a favourite Indian sweet related to that.

I am forgetting a couple, each just as mindboggling as one before or after. It went on like this, the two of us left alone with our champagne glasses talking relaxed as perhaps rarely ever, with each part of the Fairy Tale dinner coming at unexpected intervals.

There were some ten courses or so, in all, probably not more! Each one was a surprise, a delight, brought memories, and it was always exotic.

There was a course with tiny ravioli, and as much as we loved ravioli, these were made without white flour. Our host had talked over our food fancies, likes and dislikes, and more importantly, diet restrictions old and new, with him, and these were reflected in everything he planned specially for us in this specially created menu. I had been put on a diet at the time that was without wheat, hence perhaps the surprise of the ravioli  - or perhaps it was just for the fun of it!
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The next one - or was it before the ravioli? one forgets! - had tiny carrots served alongside, of all the loved things, asparagus. And the surprise was, this was white asparagus.

Normally that's the preferred variety in Europe, and it's considered an elite choice. But I had never found it anywhere near as good as the normal green variety that's full of life, succulent, fresh, and had instead generally found it fibrous and devoid of taste.

So much so, once when we ventured out on foot in Germany in balmier weather and found a stall close to the house that sold fresh produce, we had bought green asparagus, and when the vendor - probably the farmer - had ventured an opinion about white being better, I had countered it a bit vehemently.

In US one could find good green asparagus, but the fresh asparagus one got in spring in Germany was comparatively inexpensive, very tasty and full of flavour.

White, on the other hand, needs to have labour intensive farming, grown as it is below rows of mounds of earth tended by labour, which in north is usually from Poland, since they need the money, and can easily travel across border to work for the day. This as usual produced resentment in locals, who would rather not work for that amount.

So it was a surprise to find it served now, and it was unexpectedly lovely. What's more it was served with a mushroom sauce and truffle oil, completely delightful.
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Then began desserts.

First I think were tiny macaroons, not overly sweet either. But they were soon eclipsed.


One that was what looked like an igloo, set in centre, when opened, contained what looked like a brilliant blue sapphire ring set in a surrounding that was part of dessert courses - and the ring was dessert as well.

And if that was the high point of the Fairy Tale dinner, the descent was no less of surprise and delight.


They set before each of us a dish that looked like a coconut half accompanied by a small local banana, and we thought, a local touch, but are we eating a half coconut? In its shell? Turned out, the coconut shell was real, but the flesh was panacotta - and the banana similarly had rice content with the whole thing to be mixed and eaten together.

We wondered about that coconut through the ride home. How did they make it look so real? Yes, the shells were real, but the soft panacotta in such perfect shape sticking to it!
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I had had a fairy tale month in the land of fairy tales, a visit that happened to include my twenty fifth birthday, and that birthday was completely fairy tale, even with its simplicity of a home celebration with only the host family apart from me.


All these years, I told him, I never thought there would be another fairy tale celebration to come anywhere near that. This pretty much was close.


Perhaps twenty five is the magic number , he said.

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During the dinner, thrilled with the quality and the preparations, I had gone on suggesting he is way ahead of his colleagues in, say, Berkeley, San Francisco, et al, and ought to open restaurants in those cities, and too on Boston and Paris.

It was only when we were back home, changed and finally resting, that the midnight brilliance brought the fitting spot to mind – of course!

He should be doing this for the PM and the president, to do banquets for the visiting delegations and so forth, creating fantastic menus that would speak of India and of fairy tales, of their own lands and of silk route, of voyages about the world in ancient times and of the painstaking pilgrimages of the visitors from over the Himaalaya.
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Spectrum in Time

Dawn begins from
Deep Blue Gold Heaven
Held gently secure in it's cocoon
Until ready to burst forth
On the pre dawn
Starlit blue waiting in a silvery sheen
Dawn lights up
Eastern horizon in its hues
Red and Gold, Pink and Peach and Apricot

Dawn brings reds and pinks and golds and
Colours of life to
Life on earth, and
Earth responds
Blossoms of all hues on carpets of grass and trees and forests
Green of life glows.
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Spectrum of Light
Somewhere in the spectrum of all wavelengths of existence
Somewhere held in spectrum of Light
Colour spectrum as known to life, humanity, us,
While on Earth

Reds favoured by babies, toddlers -
And they are quite capable of fighting for their beloved
Scarletts and Reds, Apples and all
Crimson hues of dawn of
Life on Earth
So easily found by the babies' little eyes searching for colour
And so, favourite -

While their moms prefer gentle blossoms on sunlit grass
A happy garden for the child's life
Visible on the child's attire
Mother's wishes and blessings from deepest of her
Heart that is now the child's for ever.

And so the babe wins
As long as the mother pays attention
To the whims of child -
Reds it is as long as the baby insists.
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Somewhere later comes a liking for
Gardens of mothers
Blossoms on carpets of brilliant sunlit greens
Life wanted by her for her heart's brood

Somewhere then comes
Soft grey of clouds
While brilliant green grass is shaded
Under tall deep green trees
A grey of thought, of mind and more
While deep green of
Life
Struggles to grow,
Wanting sunshine and
Shade of grey
All at the same time -

Deep green of shade of tall trees
Soft grey of clouds heavy with
Life giving rains
So needed in the early burning heat of morning
And it continues if one is lucky
Until forenoon sees a descending sun
Heat now on its last brilliance
Western horizons about to be lit up
With sunset brilliant hues of
Reds and golds that
Autumn echoes on earth.


Now the skies are clear
Brilliant sapphire blue
Just as they were on eastern shores of an
Early morn

Only, now the heat is already a
Welcome warmth
No longer in need of the ocean breezes

But the ocean awaits
Off western shores - just as it gave one
A shore to climb out of waves
A lifetime ago
East in the morning.

Blues of heavens now echo the
Blues of the ocean
One reflects other and
Who knows which is reflecting, which the real primordial
Light refracted from all that
Earth receives every moment -
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Blues with white flowers large
A cherished gift once
Mother wrapped around one, now remodeled into a suit that
Already seems thoughtless
Oh, one ought to leave alone
Heaven's gifts of
Love.

May not be too late -
Maybe the  heaven would wrap one again in
Soft blue with large white flowers
Until then one waits, breathes in


Hoping one sees the loved ones in the
Blue that one is cloaked in -
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Winter's Moonlit Peaks

Winter looms gentle 
Just beyond the threshold 
Peeking in through windows 
Amidst the leaves of the trees one is grateful to 
For covering one's view with green again 

Winter comes in stealthy steps 
Much like the first snowfall 
With silent steps 
Delighting one with the cool feathery touch 
Snow alights in hair, on shoulders, 
Melting with a breath 
For now while warmth still lasts - 

Brings to heart delight of memories of all those winters 
Silence and solitude and velvet deep blue heavens lit with myriad stars
Days lit with soft gold sun and snow brilliant settled on earth with 
Millions of stars crackling under one's footsteps 
Until in momentary light melting under sun - 
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Winters of long ago, 
Not as foggy in memory as the mornings were 
Biting cold bleeding feet, elbows 
Cold that seeped then in the bones and 
Brought a strong health of youth to crumbling long before its time 
Mother lovingly giving me her own mink coat to wear to school 
Enveloping me with her love and warmth forever - 
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Winter's last few days in another land, 
Very first sojourn away from homeland, 
Via winter's own Nordic lands
Reached after a cold land nevertheless giving a welcome as warm as possible in transit
The snowstorm that delayed arrival and journey 
Seen only in its aftereffects from afar - 

Arriving at edge of evergreen forest with its myriad paths 
Another maternal heart caring for my vulnerability 
Drying my hair, giving me her own prized camel coat 
Looking on with surprised appreciation at us and 
Telling me I looked good, however lacking in view of her habitat - 
Snow on ground in small heaps  
On forest paths and on sides 
Amongst evergreen pines and spruces in evergreen forests 
A last flurry before early morn leaving a powdery trace in backyard 
Below the blue spruce. 
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Eastern shores of land across the globe 
Cold jumping in with sudden drops of temperature 
Unlike back home, here it did not step gently or even climb running up or down 
It dropped or jumped up from one day to next 
If one did not like the weather of the day, one had only to wait 
And it changed - 
And so the cold comes swooping in from icy fields north 
Arctic winds its wings and strong its bite 
One shivered on bus stops, wondering how much more 

Thanksgiving dinner, one's usual - one was new to this land 
Then someone said, look, there is snow - 
And then it was magic, with white flakes floating down 
Shining softly crystals, lightly like cottonwool 
Silence and just 
Bliss of heart, 
From heaven to heart a direct gentle melody - 
Never forgot that beauty - 
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Another cold day 
Brought yet another relief 
Cold and wind with its chill turned bones to water 
The only other youth on the bus stop was almost dancing 
One could see why - 
Standing still was colder 
Surviving that hour brought relief, exhilaration 
One shall survive after all, was the certainty - 
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Winters of going up unknown mountains 
Snow all around and one in cable cars open to wind 
Winters of traipsing through a foot deep snow the half hour to work 
Of rare ciders with cinnamon sticks 
Ice forming sculptures off tree branches, 
And one day of icy rain sticking one's eyelids shut with ice 
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Missing winter for years, 
Serendipitous finding someone who loved it more, missed it far more
Find winter again years later 
In another land, with much less cold 
Castles and trees and ice forming sculptures beautiful in light of Nordic sun 
And Alps awash with snow everlasting 
Ever delightful - 
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And then the beauty of another home for a brief respite 
With a gentle symphony of snow lit by moonlight and stars on peaks towering high 
Peaking through the window and greeting in the balcony 
The beauty that stole heart and 
Time after time one went out to greet 
Through nights - 
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Winter comes and waits now 
Just beyond the threshold 
Peeking through green foliage of a Neem tree and an evergreen that shade our view 
Gentle snow settles on head, 
Light falls now dim - 

If winter is like the softly brilliant peaks moonlit 
Like the silence of snowfall in mountains on evergreens 
The bliss of floating flakes from heaven to heart, 
Oh, welcome winter - 

An interlude of bright white through day and night 
Before the blue of ocean and heavens envelope one
And one is one with the Divine 
Blue Gold Pink 
Dawn. 
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Journey Through Seasons Permuted Tumbling

Spring had been lost
A long time back
When little feet were still a toddler's
The toddling began early, but the little one
Needed yet to be carried a while,
Till the body was stronger
That was not to be -
And a harsh summer of a desert had
Burdened one with a adulthood

The Goddess of compassion and love,
Mother,
Had poured a secret stream

Secret, because her demons were
Determined to punish her
For all her goodness, her noble way, her beauty, her strengths
Punish her for not stooping down or descending to their ways, their lows
Punish her by tearing her first one to shreds
Alive
And let her watch it tortured
To a lingering death.
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A cool breeze of a seashore
Brought relief
And then filled sails
For the ship that was to
Carry one from the still hot
West coast of the sunlit land of the tropics
To the dark cold east coast
Across the globe.
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A short interim of relief
In the long journey fleeing demons towards life
To bring back life and light to those still in the harsh desert
A short interim of relief
In the long trek on sharp stones
All too short an interim
Of a cool month
One flew to across icy storms -
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A short interim of relief,
A moonlit month in the
Evergreen forest
While snow was still on the paths that traversed between tall pines, spruces, ceders
One walked hand in hand with someone whose loving heart one trusted,
And climbed tall ladders to little houses
High up in tall trees
Or in a swing
Swings one had been denied all too long
One soared a little to skies all new
Cared, loved, cocooned in a gentle silk heart .....

Feeding deer that came trusting
To feed from morsels at one's hand
And then ran away at the soft click in the distance
Of a camera's shutter

It was not yet spring though
Only the last days before spring would bloom forth
If only one stayed -
A very beautiful cool shaded sheltered
Moonlit month in
An evergreen forest
Walking hand in hand
On paths that went ever so soft
Between the tall evergreen trees.
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That could have been the life
Heaven beyond dreams that it was
But was not to be
If one wanted it for life, for ever
One had to choose it over
All that was one's soul,
Mind and heart and truth of one's being
And could not!

So,
Heart lost somewhere in the forest paths of the evergreen forest
Lost and uncertain one returned
Home to the shores of west coast sunsets
Of every evening a rainbow festival lit up skies
When the golden orb dipped into the gentle oceans
And then lit up skies with the eternal festival of
Diamond brilliant stars
And white sapphire planets' dance across time's wheel

A short interval of uncertain times
Gift of telescope and borrowed binoculars
Scanning starry nights, peering at crescent of Venus and
Walking on seashore evenings, nights, eclipses,
Waiting for the moment for future to arrive ......
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And then on to dark cold
Eastern shores across the
World
To a new home
More beautiful than the
Heaven beyond dreams that was left behind
One did not know it then, forever -
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To a new home
More beautiful than the
Heaven beyond dreams -

Snow falls
Cold that turned
One's bones to water
One was proud, exhilarated
Having survived the wind chill far below zero
And departures of hopes of love, life
For now -
Working for future, for those still thirsting for a raindrop in the deserts,
To find a path through so one could find a home
For them and for one's own
Striving on upwards ....
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And then there was
A soft, cool, shaded
Summer of breezes
Starlit dusks wafting music of grandeur or
Of gentle strains under tall trees
On grass by the lake in
Berkshires
Reached by beautiful routes of
New England
Genteel cafes along the way
Evenings under tall trees on grass
Dissolving into starlit nights of
Tanglewood

A brief, all too brief
Beautiful, cherished forever interval of time
A short respite from the lonely deserts was thrown to repeatedly
A short respite when life stood still
And let one drink in
Beauty.

Again, not forever -
Continuing that beauty would risk what
One needed to live for
To rescue from deserts and demons
And so one had to
Return to one's own routes
That went through harsh deserts
And descended through hells
And met en route, the
Divine.
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Once in New England one had
Wished for an
Autumn flame red
But spring came after a
Second time of diving into oblivion
And brought one back once more to the edge of the
Evergreen Forest.

How does one one even begin to
Translate that spring on paper?
The blossoms that bloomed
When an interrupted end of winter
Two decades back
Now sallied forth and
Blossomed into spring!

Myriad blossoms of fragrance
Tulips in every hue that coloured the paths
And daffodils sunlit along every path

Magnolias that lit up like pink pearl sapphires
Gardens and one's views
Cherry blossoms that brought
So much bliss to heart -
- Oh, that spring!
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And now, just when
One had thought nothing could surpass those
Momentary respites, those brief moments, those all too brief
Interims of beauty
Autumn on silent footsteps
Stole in -
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My Autumn dawns
Golden Rose Glow
Dawns
Beneath a gentle
Divine
Blue Heaven
Of brilliant Sapphire hue
That purity of white peaks
Attempts to reach
Surrounded by the
Blue green
Evergreen cypresses, ceders, spruces, pines
Of life and its
Blue white diamond sapphire
Streams
That our paths go
Winding along
Up hugging steep mountain sides
Down green valleys
Twisting and turning

My autumn glows gentle
with forests turning deep green to golden greens
Redgolds and hues of
Every possible Rose bloom.

A journey of sheer
Beauty - !
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Wishes for blossoms - cherry, apple, mango, peace, light, love, beauty .......

Some years ago we visited various places, and lived in various places around the globe, before returning to the city we had left - and found it changed for the better in that the new enforced measures had reduced vehicle fuel pollution, so breathing was much better. We had booked an apartment in a relatively remote area and the surroundings were quiet with trees covering most of view, and too the road to the place was shaded with trees flowering in summer with deep orange large blossoms.

Then came swift paced development, with widening of road and building of more homes around. Which was somewhat good in that travel was perhaps faster once the road was finished, but in my heart there has been a steady lament for the trees that I saw being felled with growing horror, as the felling went on and on. And the more the trees in this surrounding went the more I began to hold on to a wistful dream of some day living in a home with trees surrounding it, trees with blossoms and trees with deep shade, trees with fruits and trees that will nest lovely chirping birds.  Cherry, apple, peach, pear, apricot, plum, mango, magnolia, and more.

I have now stopped thinking about it, at least on conscious level, and stopped making pictures and drafts of the house and garden. The couple of architects we saw wanted to build us a house as disgusting as one could never in one's worst nightmare have seen, what with bathrooms facing main entrance and the general design looking like a crossing of roads with little huts that had no connection to one another without passing through the crossing of the roads. Perhaps they did not wish to design something so humble as a home, what with the development in the area raising ambitions all around to building large and expensive hotels, commercial buildings, et al. Or perhaps someone spooked the whole thing, not wishing us to have a home of our own. An apartment in this region counts as a bit beggarly, no matter how luxurious one makes it and how poor the house of the person that is telling you "I have a house, we don't live in an apartment".

And my dreams of cherry blossoms have retreated to memories - and a wish to leave to where we can live amongst the surroundings right for our hearts.