2 ..., at 1.
2 ...,
Life happens, what I know it and I am nothing, but nothing original. Every day we have the opportunity to write something in the great book of books. We can do whatever we want on that page, that page today unique. From a humble sad or doodle to the novel ever written. We can put a spot of color that give us rage or paint the most beautiful picture created by man. There is also the staff is up to us to put enough balanced notes, tempo, ligatures, trills, chords and create the sound never heard, the sublime moment of a Bb lost in the immensity of the cosmos or leave " Ad libitum "the sound grows . Feel the shimmering brilliance of our existence and make it eternal. In this we are free, so just us so we decided to put, place, remove.
also have the power to start the page, make a pile of paper and forget "that" day.
some time I wanted to write this post. I have time giving long, not knowing how to put into words what life gives me, the experiences we live. The wonderful thing that has been shared with so many wonderful people. All I learned, everything that is beautiful to look in other eyes and learn from them "Thanks be for all eternity, my beloved and dear Empress China.
life also hits us when we least expect it, and even so we must be prepared.
I had four cats, Na Tongolele, believe me, ONLY if I have four cats, I mentioned during my trip to Venezuela, I am prepared, at this point in my life, to farewells. It is time to objectively and without passion foolish to accept that there are people who will leave my party when I least expect it. People who have the bad taste to go before me.
knew her back in 1979. She was the sister's husband, a teacher of high school. A lady from before. It was quite a character and scrutinizing everything from its medieval watchtower. She was the queen of his kingdom, his faithful subjects were Brito and Chinese. His opinion was final in the paper world, rules, types, the dreaded guillotine background and the smell of fresh ink. Then afterwards, it was in his world of glass, frames "Maria Luisa" , mirrors, lots of prints, paintings, oil paintings and glass. Entered her home, in private gallery Valencian authors and marine enviable Cañas. I went home and I nestled in it. I found a home that is bright blue and his daughter. The sister I never had. There was Ice Castles, "Toquionesas" who was born June 21, 1979, dancing in Barbarella, much "True Love" of Columbus and his Trombone, many beaches, carnivals, long days, short days, some weeping and smiles. Always smiles.
life gives us, without asking or consulting us, those things that you can accept without protest. We arrived and there they are. A language, a homeland and even a family. We, of sheer daring, we construct another family while we live, we are filled with other mothers, other parents, brothers, uncles, cousins, nephews. Rounding out the family that already have.
She became another mother to me, the putative mother one must get through life and you pull the ears, better, or worse, that's true.
She was awesome, a virgin all four sides. Mrs. Columba and his parents Don Rafael ", ie putative-shaking my grandparents to see her go. Dona was a whole-Guerre Guerre, but with a heart more wobbly than butter on a freshly baked cachapa.
By Ella moved heaven and earth for me to succeed, I climbed on stage and built an ephemeral dream among colored lights.
She was the "intléplido voladol" with a couple of bags of each, with their lenses to Jacqueline Kennedy, and her niece and daughter and I died laughing.
indigestion She and our cheese. She fought with everyone but in the end with everyone laughing. She and the "bienmesabe" world's richest . She and her photos with obelisks sixties hair and go-go dresses bacteria.
She taught me to combine stubs bills and make circles with the index, on pristine reams of paper to them, as if by magic, handy.
She and her lots of stories. She and her imperial eagle eye. She and her many goals. She almost bore me, your child is older than me only for 7 hours ...
Lately, every time I travel to Valencia Venezuela, I fall short in my "press conference" -and call my friends to my travels, I'm not go on vacation if the road as others, and I could not see it. My real family takes me all the time and I have time pod to see my friends.
Last Thursday I was kidnapped by a mutual friend and took me to see it. 5 years ago that his eyes did not see nor hear the voice "in situ" and surti the miracle. It's amazing when true love grows between equals.
"The love they have in life are never forgotten ..." said Ilan that song in the early 80's with good reason. There we were, she and I, in our particular "memory and has" returned to laugh, to hug, to remember now, as Nini, our mutual friend, a daughter of her and a sister to me, and Dolores-su sister is my aunt were almost silent witnesses.
We parted with the promise of seeing us next month.
No chance, no power will be. She left. She'll like Doña Guerre "my party left two days later. I left without saying goodbye. She genius and figure. I cried last Sunday, I could not go to pay my love ... it was not possible. I cried watching the sea, the crowd of gulls listening guarachas and even a mambo. Music started crying and I was speechless.
"... back to understand that love is the right and duty" sometimes we are so slow to understand.
Hilda ... what pod you. Now how can we do? When smiles turn to share?
Only I can think of you again thank you. And to think this talk of how immensely grateful I am of having shared a moment of great moment that is every moment of a smile. Of your smile.
Thanks for the smiles though my eyes are still wet plump glitter for your departure.
by 1.
Today I have mixed feelings. Life, as usual, gives chasms and ridges. Yesterday he was awarded the Prince of Asturias Award for my orchestra. Jose Antonio dreamed that one day beyond 1975 and think, I is inevitable, in Elida, Florentino, Antonio, Cheo, Matilde, Veronica, Juan Pablo, Izcaray-mi director, Michelle and her cello, Martha, Andrew, Joaquin Mary Schwarzenberg-this lady has a pact with the devil, 4th grade teacher was my mother at school beyond Peñalver, and is egalitarian, my theory and music theory classes, the do-sol-re-la of my cello, "why not invent a fretted cello ... Elida remember? - those devilish "false harmonics", Micaela with her fingers bleeding at the point of pizzicato. Mauricio with his drums ... the wonderful Morella Muñoz.
I hope that the cousin, Dudamel, delight us playing the violin. Paul Tan will still live or the twins are great, for something Barquisimeto is the musical capital of Venezuela.
If you want to vibrate, though, for my taste is a little bit fast-seek in youtube Danzon Arturo Márquez Issue 2, played by my band, and smile.
All the best for you.
PS: This was not the post I had prepared, once again choose life. The next is, I intend, about my intolerance.
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