Posts Tagged ‘my precious home’


On the other hand – you gotta forgive me, my brain doing its best, under the circs – which is: I am sick. Banal cold, first in season, and at the worst possible time (naturally).

Last week I returned home after trip to Vancouver. 6hrs on the plane (Manila-Vanc.-NY)->1/2hr Customs->1/2hr baggage->1/2hr Airtrain->1/2hr wait-1/2hr LIRR train->1/2hr subway. You know, conveniences of modern travel. Got home close to midnight, dropped bags and fell into bed. Woke up feeling funny; by Sunday morning had obstructed throat, blown sinuses and teary eyes.

And it lasted whole week. Right when I got back to 59 emails just from one client, +some from another, no crisis thanksgod, just normal end-of-year madness. And here I am: heavy lead behind my eyebrows, not a single constructive thought, just working down a box of Kleenex.

Astonished that with all this stupidity on display I actually got a year bonus in my paycheck! Although have no energy to spend it: today have been eating and sleeping non-stop. No gym: feel beaten up as if I already went, as it is. So – sorry for lack of interest here lately. I’m now going for second box of tissues, and a load of Swedish crime books…


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over my house. It hangs in the sky, its white and red lights almost on top of the building’s roof, and is so loud, it dampened the TV even through closed double-paned windows.

Lights sprang on at the neighbors’ backyards, windows cracked open. My phone’s camera failed to capture him properly.

While I was writing, it slowly went away.

I was reminded of our first night in America, almost 26 years ago: there were 3 copters above the street of our first rental apartment, following some police action.

What is going on now?

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The funeral is tomorrow

Someone I know just lost a mother. She was very old, frail, half out of her mind – and managing her existence consumed most of my acquaintance’ life. Still, she was loved, and now being missed. Three of us from the office are going to the funeral tomorrow, each bringing some dish for after-service reception in church’s rec hall. Can I bring “deviled eggs” to church?, – I joked, but they missed the pun; I guess the answer is yes, a mountain to Muhammad if not the reverse..

While I was rolling the 20 boiled eggs in the evening quiet of my home, I heard shouts from the open windows. At first I took it for a neighbors’ quarrel – sometimes their internal affairs spill on the backyard deck, and all 6 adjacent backyards become an involuntary audience – but noticed irregular repetition of only one word.

“Fire”, said the voice. “Fire! Fire!”. It was answered by another “don’t just say it, call 911”. I leaned out of the window. In the still warmth of Indian summer darkness a glow appeared on my right. It was getting coral, then reddish in a matter of minutes, and in the astonished silence terrible cracking sounds were becoming voluble. I felt a strange indifference. The source of the glow was unclear – is it at neighbor’s? at the wing of my own building? a reflection of house across the street? “I probably should dress and prepare my documents, checkbook and wallet” – the notion was as strange and disconnected as the stillness outside. Why should I? There would be nobody to miss me. Slowly, I returned to the kitchen and proceeded to peel yet another egg shell. Suddenly the fire engine sirens filled the air and the silence broke. Several people yelled and talked at once, someone jumped on the outhouse roof, a bonfire smell floated inside – as if it was released by a fireman’s permission – and everyone and everything got moving. In a few minutes it was over. No more glow, nor cracking sounds: the quiet returned and darkness spread.


Creative translation & interpretation here. Missing the point, as usual.

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Что не так

Очередной крик на лужайке в известном жужейном сообществе. Тема: что вы замечаете в интерьере, придя в гости, и/или на что обращаете внимание, готовясь к приходу гостей.

Не буду комментировать комментаторов  (они и так на виду), выскажу собственное фэ.

Будучи, как известно, prude, я не одобряю следы чужой сексуальной жизни, выставленные на всеобщее обозрение. Неважно, по каким причинам – простое неряшество, или “глаз замылился” и в упор не видит разбросанные по карпету лифчики; а то и с намёком оставленную на ночной тумбе упаковку с товаром спец. назначения. Чувствую себя, как это по-русски, unwelcome.

Дальше: Вид голого тела покрытого волосами производит отталкивающее впечатление То бишь, завитки волос (чОрных, чОрных волос!) в стоке (белой!) ванны. Ничего не поделать, рвотный рефлекс.

Тот же рефлекс, хотя управляемый, вызывают разные душистые свечки и зажжённые палочки – особенно химические запахи пачулей (грязные хиппи!) и ванили (мышеловка!).

А у вас как?


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Good morning


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…жизнь между тем идёт, и хочется красоты.

Вот, смотрите – сегодняшние покупки:

Первая картинка ближе к правде: японский кофейник – снежной белизны и лёгкости. Бело-серые блюда – бельгийские, а двойня  эспрессо – Jansen & Co. Они 2х оттенков серого, потеплее и похолоднее – но столько коричневого в тёплом сером нету.

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Tried and proven recipe from  Serious Eats. 

What I did differently:  used pumpernickel batons in open sandwich. Naturally, didn’t toast them. Grape seed oil in lieu of XV olive. Added  arugula. And skipped the scallions.


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