tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69291497289476223262024-03-05T16:09:26.768-05:00cartas cortas de la cokiA veces estar lejos no es fácil. Todo lo que les quiero decir sin que la distancia lo detenga.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-51131949978102280972012-08-16T00:45:00.000-04:002012-08-16T00:45:11.184-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSobqVbhDckTHjvs-8MHiZGGtCeb8F3CEzkdZJ_nqDerDSvdYicIM0ucOn0iW9fqZtt4dZJ5-j9e56mZ34ovcjI5HZ7Pp3hO4_G9K1xexAjOxFsKYPLvDmA3l99iizFsf6wzCPjJSr8M/s1600/bella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSobqVbhDckTHjvs-8MHiZGGtCeb8F3CEzkdZJ_nqDerDSvdYicIM0ucOn0iW9fqZtt4dZJ5-j9e56mZ34ovcjI5HZ7Pp3hO4_G9K1xexAjOxFsKYPLvDmA3l99iizFsf6wzCPjJSr8M/s640/bella.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In some cases, talking to animals is better. </div>
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There's no particular interest.</div>
Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-54608617655940456592012-08-06T23:11:00.000-04:002012-08-06T23:11:09.099-04:00<div style="text-align: left;">
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Mi profesor de poesías de la universidad le escribió un poema a su hermano muerto en su último libro acerca de lo que ellos eran dueños: sus recuerdos. Listaba cosas como las carcajadas que nos dimos en la calle, ebrias de alegría, mi hermana Gaby y yo, mientras un vecino caminaba a su perro a las 3 de la mañana enfrente de mi apartamento. O esas conversaciones en la cocina de nuestra casa en Venezuela comiendo empanadas frías las tres, y espantándonos a las 12 a.m. "por si venía un muerto". Uno en la vida no es dueño de nada, pero sí de esas cosas. </div>
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Hoy caminando a la casa pensé, si no soy dueña de nada, me basta con este atardecer rosa, como esos delfines saltando de noche en el mar de Cumaná. Cuando escribí de ellos en la universidad, criticaron mi poema por "improbable", nadie creía que existiera esa criatura. Pero Gaby y yo los vimos y son nuestros, de nadie más. Así como estas nubes hoy, por debajo de las que todos trotan, sin mirar hacia arriba y tal vez si les cuento, tampoco me crean.</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-82850518171733576092012-07-26T22:51:00.000-04:002012-07-26T22:51:29.759-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPX2bWatBiNisey4mIGiOaPD02s3iqxo8NjBze-beMVWjzXdPyrVBRRXm_OxMgeni7srOcNTxhvWYSoUXs1CeVcacdYSU3y_47lbuZ49W7RTcQQKSxlcTU3sgPksH_z7G_6iOBl_m3OA/s1600/terman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPX2bWatBiNisey4mIGiOaPD02s3iqxo8NjBze-beMVWjzXdPyrVBRRXm_OxMgeni7srOcNTxhvWYSoUXs1CeVcacdYSU3y_47lbuZ49W7RTcQQKSxlcTU3sgPksH_z7G_6iOBl_m3OA/s640/terman.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Sometimes, when I'm too lost to write the good words, taking in another's is just better. </div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-57065087358153310652012-04-20T23:50:00.001-04:002012-04-20T23:50:52.498-04:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BjO8xdZTW8WEm4CBK6j-Ur3uMlsd2-ikMEm8ih7DMNiMn7bpm3Ctj8Vr4kqvagIoxMnx4yHT-MdRsLGbbPq0f1SwojZYuwmXr3mef_edLBjRNW6lghRR5xBDq9NjEEt7x8glMYO-hKo/s1600/7019564763_1e29ecce0d_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="533" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BjO8xdZTW8WEm4CBK6j-Ur3uMlsd2-ikMEm8ih7DMNiMn7bpm3Ctj8Vr4kqvagIoxMnx4yHT-MdRsLGbbPq0f1SwojZYuwmXr3mef_edLBjRNW6lghRR5xBDq9NjEEt7x8glMYO-hKo/s640/7019564763_1e29ecce0d_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Spring isn't passing by me this time. Each year I grow more aware of this season which before was nothing except the middle man to summer. But a magnolia tree across the street allows me --very briefly-- to swoon and sigh over pink blossoms... although there hasn't been any rain around this parts, life <i>is</i> blooming.<br />
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I held my sister's newborn baby girl just a few days ago. She was warm with new blood, a fresh full bed of black hair and the quiet peace of the undiscovered. She is a doll my hands were deadly afraid to touch.<br />
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My other niece and nephews were born in Venezuela, and seeing them only through photographs, however majestic, just reminded me I was not a part of the big moment: conquering my fear to hold them in arms too big and clumsy and say hello for the first time ever. <br />
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Driving to the hospital, I thought about my first words to baby Sophie. What should I say to her? "Hello. Welcome. I love you." Everything sounded so common there were no words worth saying. As I walked into the room and saw her tightly wrapped in a swaddling blanket like a Matryoshka doll, beaming light from her cheeks, I forgot my plan to say anything at all.<br />
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Rupande, the Indian warrior princess, was suddenly a mom and there she was, <i>totally</i> beautiful after the most treacherous work a woman could possibly do. More visitors arrived eager to greet this wee being and we gushed together. Yet nothing trumped the silence of everyone completely at ease looking at Sophie Rotu sleeping. Just like a brand new blossom on the tree across the street, there was nothing to do with her grace but stare.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-71120303973291490852012-02-08T23:37:00.001-05:002012-12-02T01:00:44.314-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
"<i>Whirl, whirl, whirl! Holy! Days are flying and I've not written! I've not recorded the worthy happenings!</i>" </div>
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This is exactly what I wrote in my journal tonight when I found myself alone in my apartment with my thoughts and something rare these days at 11 p.m... energy. My last journal entry is from January 24... horrible... although many other journals are being written on at once --good luck to anyone ever trying to piece my life together-- that is no real excuse.</div>
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So, Happy 2012 to those of you who bump into this blog, it is late but honestly I've been a slow one to catch up to the new numbers. December, where did you go?</div>
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I didn't write about finally getting to spend New Year's Eve the Venezuelan way with my niece, nephew, <a href="http://coki-torsi.blogspot.com/">sister</a> and husband in Canada... It was the loveliest of times. Without any previous knowledge, we decided to cook the original Venezuelan meal, which is elaborate as it gets, and turned fingerlickin' good (according to all meat eaters). I continued to be weak for my niece, no news there, and I'm so glad to not be responsible for her discipline.</div>
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All is a blur, there's been death and a lingering feeling of uncertainty rearing its head more than usual. There's been the days to be thankful for and beauty flying so fast I might have miss it if I stopped to write. I've been choosing to record life taking photos and use them as a map to remind me of the feeling. Open water, open heart...</div>
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In Miami for work, <a href="http://www.davidzz.com/">this artist</a> made me fall in love with his work and grounded me a little. Maybe one day one of his wires can move in with me. I think life finds a way to put you back in place, even when blooming late, it is always the right time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1NktBbeJrtGIzAEQ5nwjFN9xW6vJDJjsPZAMEOfPNHRgZmlUzJXWqu4xrJn2xiAv-GLFrUb4u0NQUyalDwQE3IQ48mZJZY31JdK1o_xTzDnOLu4LINmRpzQZBMDHrayLWzvnL5VUTf4/s1600/dz.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1NktBbeJrtGIzAEQ5nwjFN9xW6vJDJjsPZAMEOfPNHRgZmlUzJXWqu4xrJn2xiAv-GLFrUb4u0NQUyalDwQE3IQ48mZJZY31JdK1o_xTzDnOLu4LINmRpzQZBMDHrayLWzvnL5VUTf4/s1600/dz.JPG" /></a></div>
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Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-52528387470577388772012-01-12T13:27:00.000-05:002012-01-12T13:27:35.778-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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There's the family we're born into and then the one we find elsewhere.</div>
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May you be shining in the grand luminosity, you lovely woman! </div>
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May you feel times 100 all the love you gave on this earth.</div>
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May you rest your warrior soul.</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-79660104806177231602011-12-06T00:06:00.001-05:002012-07-14T02:09:05.236-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsC_8I7e2ZuTrYZq8lD2qYOBuZxfAmg2-451NdIaYK0AnAkGWuVj0rZgh5y4ZF1hvDUpstFrX8p7GtLCX1Wzxwilrwd9FYPVU1SiwRu_Uqk-daNGRILTQ0O8Zo_pTdj-nuPe0dtN1IVw/s1600/moonshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsC_8I7e2ZuTrYZq8lD2qYOBuZxfAmg2-451NdIaYK0AnAkGWuVj0rZgh5y4ZF1hvDUpstFrX8p7GtLCX1Wzxwilrwd9FYPVU1SiwRu_Uqk-daNGRILTQ0O8Zo_pTdj-nuPe0dtN1IVw/s1600/moonshine.jpg" /></a></div>
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Soy fruta a punto de caerme del árbol. </div>
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Soy águila en descenso por su presa. </div>
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Soy ojos abriéndose por primera vez a la luz...</div>
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con miles de preguntas, adelanto sin pensar en las minas</div>
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Soy un cavernícola aventurándose fuera de la cueva.</div>
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Soy lobo esperando mi luna llena.</div>
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<br /></div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-11633429719704327512011-11-18T12:31:00.001-05:002011-12-01T12:15:02.401-05:00What November was made for...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqojbaoh6e_yW0vu5AaQ5Vvi-_vN8bSExW6mcLURxzAScFY8MIrGPItDdU80ZRx6zk26vo9uv51C9dTUCFQYLdIGaNMCb4m5aw9pg_Ga_afDC16E7-ENnZPx3NZWdt3hBeJ7hQL2Vz74/s1600/sbtrkt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="507" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqojbaoh6e_yW0vu5AaQ5Vvi-_vN8bSExW6mcLURxzAScFY8MIrGPItDdU80ZRx6zk26vo9uv51C9dTUCFQYLdIGaNMCb4m5aw9pg_Ga_afDC16E7-ENnZPx3NZWdt3hBeJ7hQL2Vz74/s640/sbtrkt.jpg" width="640" /></a>Just like in October, another unforgettable show helped ring in this month. SBTRKT, was a sweaty and messy dance frenzy, the kind that lifts the soul by shaking away anything stale that was sitting in the corners. </div>
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I used to sneer at pictures of shoes or feet. I don't particularly find
feet gracious or beautiful but for some reason this fall I've been
obsessed with snapping the ground covered in leaves... and that one day I walked around in heeled oxfords all over the city for an entire day, which is a feat in my book. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBkxDAP9xI1sw0j3uW25Wd6Mv2CfnZXL4lcEdvdrRBs7iDKP_iUqwclPD9PP9hY8ZEquc19UK4vUsSIpynUqfbWEncs4bPD1pnUpZk94GYC3FS0ncVEGjEFUbDMdQVYzvo43eshLmq0I/s1600/IMG_0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBkxDAP9xI1sw0j3uW25Wd6Mv2CfnZXL4lcEdvdrRBs7iDKP_iUqwclPD9PP9hY8ZEquc19UK4vUsSIpynUqfbWEncs4bPD1pnUpZk94GYC3FS0ncVEGjEFUbDMdQVYzvo43eshLmq0I/s640/IMG_0141.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Work took me to Las Vegas, and I got to share duties with one of my favorite editors who lives away. Our sleep deprivation from endless days and nights drove us to silly-picture-time.</div>
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It is moments like this when I feel my life is totally ridiculous and over the top... and I thank the heavens for it. When I went to shoot this show my dad kept popping in my brain, it felt wrong to be there without him, to experience it without the person who I hold responsible for making me love music, and not any music... the great stuff. However, despite the time difference between Vegas and Venezuela, I messaged him a trillion times clips of Santana's solos and a few pictures from my phone. He was so happy. <br />
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Going to bed in Las Vegas looked like this everyday. It was all work and no play, but the sunrise from a 61st floor was enough of a gift. On 11.11.11 I stared out of the window --in the fluffiest of bathrobes!-- prayed for clarity, and gave thanks before collapsing for a quick pre-flight nap.<br />
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Madison
Square Garden is not my favorite venue but it looks so lovely when is
full of music lovers, this time Foo Fighters was to blame for the
overjoyed hands. </div>
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Making my co-worker squeal with cheap gifts during her birthday was a highlight. I love giving people things for the selfish reason of seeing this expression.</div>
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My college buddy Adelina took a long bus ride to spend the weekend with us. We ate, ate, ate and walked, walked walked, but mostly, laughed at things you can only laugh about with people you have history with. </div>
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Joel joined us in the city parade and we took Adelina to see Rockefeller Center. I love that everyone is always cold but this man can manage to walk around in a hoodie like it ain't no thing. </div>
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Old friends that get along with new(ish) friends is the best thing in the world to me. I snapped Yayi and Adelina at Lincoln Center, right before our visitor decided to pose like a tigress on the fountain... that's a private collection.</div>
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Bergdorf Goodman's detailed work was another pit stop on her tour du NYC. Mannequins freak me out but this picture is one of my favorites right now.</div>
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It was difficult capturing Central Park at night during our walk but the 'whiskery' feel of this tree does the trick for me. That night we saw a couple get engaged... He kneeled, she said yes in the dark... it was nice and private until we cheered from a distance for them, taking away the class but adding a good anecdote --we hope.</div>
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During a visit to one of the markets in Brooklyn we all fell in love with <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/giorgiejewelry">skull bracelets</a> and Adelina gifted us each a piece, mine is made of wood but I went back and bought a silver one, too. The beaded beauty happened to be from the '70s and it had me at "12 bucks."</div>
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Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania is always a good time. My nephews are all getting older and pile up on 'Uncle Bad Joel' often and too quickly for a good picture to be snatched. This one is my miracle shot of the month. I love that they all look a tad wacky-eyed. </div>
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One Thanksgiving-bummer was having a sick kitty. Injured Bella had to travel with us so we could give her antibiotics for an infection on a 'vamp stamp' she got in a fight. Despite it all, she was a total champ about being in a car for 6 hours and adjusted to her temporary home immediately.</div>
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Breakfast at my favorite omelet joint in the entire world. My father-in-law doesn't like this place so much but every time we go visit he suggests it... because of us. <br />
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Twinkle, twinkle city lights! The skyline has looked different every day this week.</div>
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Hello December!</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-55832375682098992942011-10-31T12:24:00.001-04:002011-10-31T12:36:44.342-04:00What autumn was made for (this year)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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An unforgettable show </div>
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Depiero's trip for apple cider donuts & the most ridiculous ghost faces </div>
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Bella, but of course! I envy her year-round autumn coat </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6JlYxPUH-8inVkxgsXfT1ylafZYGW4wm3aIJTdon8yF8g5OSFgZ9TnA8mQ_Pxk1NuLmruOOkRXWeByzNcBOsbnMGZ1ZxGcHtK970pDhVwYomN7UaHECUCryld0Q9Iq9uzXIWtHVqpqE/s1600/IMG_0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6JlYxPUH-8inVkxgsXfT1ylafZYGW4wm3aIJTdon8yF8g5OSFgZ9TnA8mQ_Pxk1NuLmruOOkRXWeByzNcBOsbnMGZ1ZxGcHtK970pDhVwYomN7UaHECUCryld0Q9Iq9uzXIWtHVqpqE/s1600/IMG_0043.JPG" /> </a></div>
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Indulging in a self-portrait</div>
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Sushi dates with my bestie </div>
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Perusing sidewalk book sales </div>
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A new <a href="http://www.amazon.com/1Q84-Haruki-Murakami/dp/0307593312">book</a> to curl up with. Woo!</div>
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Confused seasons</div>
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Sugar Skulls!!</div>
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An <a href="http://www.umberdove.com/">Umber Dove</a> calendar </div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uJ5Gnq-Fj3abkuGkOmBVlpjVo45XJjMVORE0w5IWV71TCFhj2CoFIRqsuqNmmv3kC86NVCfbRtbtFWTtrefO5FOke5DYKNd5yC-EOu2-24DZy_GR_TvPEjDjt5ilgqxpOwf0C8PrIvo/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uJ5Gnq-Fj3abkuGkOmBVlpjVo45XJjMVORE0w5IWV71TCFhj2CoFIRqsuqNmmv3kC86NVCfbRtbtFWTtrefO5FOke5DYKNd5yC-EOu2-24DZy_GR_TvPEjDjt5ilgqxpOwf0C8PrIvo/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" /></a></div>
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Halloween!</div>
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<br /></div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-64012497581491422102011-09-11T00:07:00.000-04:002011-09-11T00:08:42.076-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpGWiEsd45Jx7c1RCIT8-iUHiwj-2NDLGFf_VZCZKZydtUXsjLfboJ6r-l2_py3x1ExtgzuQcF382UXfXx53G3NEmP-2tS1KMrIcAuPgN_71RatRPJrRFFl2VwryitKVuJd3s02qsnRU/s1600/carlos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpGWiEsd45Jx7c1RCIT8-iUHiwj-2NDLGFf_VZCZKZydtUXsjLfboJ6r-l2_py3x1ExtgzuQcF382UXfXx53G3NEmP-2tS1KMrIcAuPgN_71RatRPJrRFFl2VwryitKVuJd3s02qsnRU/s640/carlos.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZyRFBLI3FT37SSXx-WTK9P_rrqtZCHKzJPuAq1LFbTsyK5OmYTz7X2pSB6PmUPMc6AhFqcuDff5yzeXHpTNKGn8u7s9QVcwW6UvrbdOyheWbsG7Ni9QX3S5hfpAtQlN3BQbPJLqvvKDs/s1600/sarah2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZyRFBLI3FT37SSXx-WTK9P_rrqtZCHKzJPuAq1LFbTsyK5OmYTz7X2pSB6PmUPMc6AhFqcuDff5yzeXHpTNKGn8u7s9QVcwW6UvrbdOyheWbsG7Ni9QX3S5hfpAtQlN3BQbPJLqvvKDs/s640/sarah2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Antes de venir a ver a mis sobrinos, me pregunté por un minuto si al verme reconocerían en mí a su tía. La preocupación fue innecesaria. </div>
Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-81515889345468734172011-08-28T13:46:00.003-04:002011-08-28T13:46:53.590-04:00<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/6085928605/" title="Ominous"><img alt="Ominous by Snailentina" height="426" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6207/6085928605_3922f81fc9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Pre-Irene: Mama nature has her moment.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-26084130236077330002011-08-22T20:50:00.000-04:002011-08-22T20:50:41.378-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAoIoQvaRDcrOcSogjtRNE7fXrTYQpG2-3J6nzO_8sDb2fkKaBQNxd8b0F0oSGZ8e2i1y_wBRj64p2M45apookS4Bj4Su7Wvk6_hfRPkk6vhvwp8R0lHqfZ7TMJZ0b2TiNUOkFwp-FLY/s1600/daddy-bryant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAoIoQvaRDcrOcSogjtRNE7fXrTYQpG2-3J6nzO_8sDb2fkKaBQNxd8b0F0oSGZ8e2i1y_wBRj64p2M45apookS4Bj4Su7Wvk6_hfRPkk6vhvwp8R0lHqfZ7TMJZ0b2TiNUOkFwp-FLY/s640/daddy-bryant.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Ya lo extraño... Bella también.<b><br />
</b></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AVEFSee-A_9M6zIn0tFr9RuHf3po_-ftDYHHzUxLX1wQMtca5HfJV7JZRydpbFEaCCcEFiUn0_hiMq7xBerqnJK1v1OqajNKIxQEv4luSS6kLuipkfGHD4iUMhCX9q3rcOMhNG_fJVg/s1600/IMG_0931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AVEFSee-A_9M6zIn0tFr9RuHf3po_-ftDYHHzUxLX1wQMtca5HfJV7JZRydpbFEaCCcEFiUn0_hiMq7xBerqnJK1v1OqajNKIxQEv4luSS6kLuipkfGHD4iUMhCX9q3rcOMhNG_fJVg/s640/IMG_0931.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-91389978745969293212011-07-25T23:48:00.001-04:002016-03-23T15:20:50.465-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuJWHq_H-aar3aOQlttMhSn5rwzJifqQ6prGeNVqoo_C3Txmlx27K-KpHRTkBZFJfRSKsCLR8H-9jH5OuiBVyG11R2sluC8mXNNUTC1Ff4zGUaxYMc7HUlsXtw7Id5tEHyop5zZ0tMms/s1600/poetry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuJWHq_H-aar3aOQlttMhSn5rwzJifqQ6prGeNVqoo_C3Txmlx27K-KpHRTkBZFJfRSKsCLR8H-9jH5OuiBVyG11R2sluC8mXNNUTC1Ff4zGUaxYMc7HUlsXtw7Id5tEHyop5zZ0tMms/s640/poetry.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Durante una caminata veraniega al supermercado<br />
los ví,<br />
pérdidos dentro de los corotos que ella no quería<br />
allí estaban,<br />
e.e. Cummings y W.B Yeats por tán solo un dólar<br />
<br />
En estas últimas semanas me he acostado con los dos<br />
e.e. hablandome de muerte,<br />
árboles brotando de mis ojos a la hora de partir.<br />
Ya en la oscuridad, los cierro<br />
sintiéndome una ladrona. <br />
<br />
¿Cómo pagarles por la verdad?<br />
¿Por recordarme que no tengo que esperar? <br />
<br />
para dejar brotar los árboles de mí<br />
y alzar mi corazón con las caricias del mar.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://www.internal.org/e_e_cummings/when_god_lets_my_body_be">el original ------</a></i>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-2213123933578690892011-07-10T18:35:00.004-04:002011-07-11T15:32:46.120-04:00¿Por qué escribo?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlCSxHPG1W-zm59b7JOhQ_a_qYN8dsEWPKkYtUNyfpu3RBvDlyVPUkwgsl7KF4J0MWaEkMo7Hj6CZuXU3J42sGEyaHoKjgx9gd_6vBF8ObZxX9lslkn4z-hTk1hehiKvqzBEl4KwbO_Y/s1600/me-nightcap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlCSxHPG1W-zm59b7JOhQ_a_qYN8dsEWPKkYtUNyfpu3RBvDlyVPUkwgsl7KF4J0MWaEkMo7Hj6CZuXU3J42sGEyaHoKjgx9gd_6vBF8ObZxX9lslkn4z-hTk1hehiKvqzBEl4KwbO_Y/s640/me-nightcap.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Frecuentemente como persona que le gusta escribir, me pregunto cuál es el punto de hacerlo, compartirlo con la gente que uno quiere o ponerlo en un blog al que puede llegar gente sin mucha dificultad. Como reportero, es posible justificar la actividad, tengo que informar de una cierta noticia sin compartir nada de mí persona, simplemente cuento los hechos. Si se trata de una crítica allí me siento como un personaje analizando algo, pero no necesariamente soy "yo," pues al final siempre me digo "¿quién soy yo para criticar el trabajo esta persona?"<br />
<br />
Entonces... ¿porque compartir escrituras y observaciones que considero como mías, más no precisamente únicas? Como escribió Bob Dylan en su canción "One Too Many Mornings," "everything I’m saying you can say it just as good," algo así como lo que yo digo lo puede decir cualquiera. <br />
<br />
Este fin de semana, cuando me tocó cubrir la muerte de Facundo Cabral, no tuve mucho tiempo de reaccionar como yo, si no como el editor contratado que necesita hacer las cosas rápidamente para informar al público. Pero al momento del respiro presente y escuchando las palabras imposiblemente ciertas (y con las que me siento muy identificada) de "No Soy De Aquí," se me vino la bendita pregunta pero más fuerte se me vino la respuesta contundente, "<i>por esto es que hay que escribir</i>." Si Facundo Cabral se hubiese dejado llevar por dudas y miedos, todo este material de verdades irrefutables que nos regaló no estuviesen a nuestro alcance. Que horrible tragedia hubiese sido nunca haber leído ésto:<br />
<br />
"Hasta que el pueblo las canta, <br />
las coplas, coplas no son, <br />
y cuando las canta el pueblo <br />
ya nadie sabe el autor. <br />
<br />
Procura tú que tus coplas <br />
vayan al pueblo a parar, <br />
que al volcar el corazón <br />
en el alma popular, <br />
lo que se pierde de gloria, <br />
se gana de eternidad."<br />
<br />
Gracias Facundo, por darme la respuesta a la pregunta ese día, tal vez mañana dude otra vez, pero aquí estará este escrito para recordarmelo nuevamente. Descansa en paz, no tengo duda de que lo estas haciendo.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-84898102448677442532011-06-05T02:07:00.006-04:002011-06-06T21:28:15.986-04:00Dear, Pacific Northwest...<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicalBmrapiwPu_0VDfica8EVPzf05zgsZRWx7ScDJ-6zF5aWwLwNzZnO7z23GsclXUAPPd9wsw2K7YqUhybK_mzhPz4td44oWbv8TS_JmNFqNBWAY9hxg0H7RBTqm6NwSFwC37qKmeCKA/s1600/IMG_5226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicalBmrapiwPu_0VDfica8EVPzf05zgsZRWx7ScDJ-6zF5aWwLwNzZnO7z23GsclXUAPPd9wsw2K7YqUhybK_mzhPz4td44oWbv8TS_JmNFqNBWAY9hxg0H7RBTqm6NwSFwC37qKmeCKA/s640/IMG_5226.jpg" width="640" /> </a>I've been crushing on the beauty of the Pacific Northwest for over a year after reading incessantly about it from <a href="http://www.umberdove.com/">Umber Dove</a> and <a href="http://candacemorris.blogspot.com/">Candace</a> --and looking at their swoon-worthy photographs of pine and evergreenery fed my current urbanite soul on good and bad days. When a work assignment came up to cover their infamous music festival Sasquatch, I really tried to contain my excitement and take it easy because if anything were to happen to get in the way of this dream work trip, a little heartbreak would have occurred. If it was meant to be, it would be... and it was. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">On May 26, two airplane rides after, I finally hit the road towards the Gorge with my coworker and when I saw we were entering North Bend, I squealed, without much care about what he would think. My joy, it was uncontrollable. Trying to describe the beauty of this place seems an impossible task, because part of the magic is its ever-changing essence. One minute it rained the lightest, tiniest drops and the fog covered the mountaintops only leaving a teasing bit of snow in sight...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnKZM3NyWPI6owvCdZysPJOK2AQSebgexGMQyNB0F6cZR0WdfHR72-ZjMXPb6l2LHMIbtWxrCo-S_DUmHx9FTRBDgCE4MwVh-NwaiXD82AJKbK2aIDiWhhdwmcq6Edcw965cCz6_GvYc/s1600/IMG_5223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnKZM3NyWPI6owvCdZysPJOK2AQSebgexGMQyNB0F6cZR0WdfHR72-ZjMXPb6l2LHMIbtWxrCo-S_DUmHx9FTRBDgCE4MwVh-NwaiXD82AJKbK2aIDiWhhdwmcq6Edcw965cCz6_GvYc/s640/IMG_5223.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The next, the sun would shine bright and unveil a complete rainbow with the most engorged clouds hanging around it. Surprised clapping really happened when the rainbow came out, "this is too much, now you're showing off," I said to whomever handles nature. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_CdCjsL3n0H1B1BDSMBjYanO_xM4W9sFp9_Z34SgMsrOZBN-qzbJ5LW-ZbzNV1qLokz-4lO9kczGBfmU00L5Ja5C5j-TCTfEEValOdeVIZylBbdv6qOfd0vLkjD8HVHNP7Q6RBPW2nkk/s1600/IMG_5195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_CdCjsL3n0H1B1BDSMBjYanO_xM4W9sFp9_Z34SgMsrOZBN-qzbJ5LW-ZbzNV1qLokz-4lO9kczGBfmU00L5Ja5C5j-TCTfEEValOdeVIZylBbdv6qOfd0vLkjD8HVHNP7Q6RBPW2nkk/s640/IMG_5195.jpg" width="640" /> </a>When I mention to people we had to stay in a motel because it was the closest thing to the festival, they make a face, but really, I smirk because they must have never seen a motel with this view. A few steps from my door was the Columbia river and on a small exploratory walk the birds sang to me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqpw4UoPHLQ9l8kmRHYJlY_2wNV8iq8_-vovOtCrnlJafGp1JyGkEDvJk9giu8v_ndZKncyh0VbssBZWaNw2pYbkVI2QtMTCa2SISnfqrsWPhla7kSm-MgIDJHKyKMvzh7cx_CA6EF10/s1600/IMG_5204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqpw4UoPHLQ9l8kmRHYJlY_2wNV8iq8_-vovOtCrnlJafGp1JyGkEDvJk9giu8v_ndZKncyh0VbssBZWaNw2pYbkVI2QtMTCa2SISnfqrsWPhla7kSm-MgIDJHKyKMvzh7cx_CA6EF10/s640/IMG_5204.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Let me keep the calmness in this water, the happiness of these birds and the strength of the mountains," became my tiny prayer. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GrCwFlixuvCpbqgxXc1Py36pEDNv1lViWkrUc-I0UM8htX3Wd6RxXeaMypYC2B6DAi4ZidMqMrqQjHkYxUE6Yc3dFX4701jqnAyk9fhxt45HWo4gWyEAMw7pkce5i8UKrDHBqDoAGfY/s1600/IMG_5214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GrCwFlixuvCpbqgxXc1Py36pEDNv1lViWkrUc-I0UM8htX3Wd6RxXeaMypYC2B6DAi4ZidMqMrqQjHkYxUE6Yc3dFX4701jqnAyk9fhxt45HWo4gWyEAMw7pkce5i8UKrDHBqDoAGfY/s640/IMG_5214.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Sing, sing, sing... Time here seemed nonexistent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKagvPZmwa-Hr1ONf_im8cciqfY_8UO2Hkd7qGucwopns4-6AvQrL0TJIuu-DgjAJ9j5bnvKY7vbu4a96RSdhQAFSKTc9eL9BpB3fc9a9aZMPgloMjvPQxRONilIgJLb6s0JdAwfaZiwY/s1600/IMG_5216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKagvPZmwa-Hr1ONf_im8cciqfY_8UO2Hkd7qGucwopns4-6AvQrL0TJIuu-DgjAJ9j5bnvKY7vbu4a96RSdhQAFSKTc9eL9BpB3fc9a9aZMPgloMjvPQxRONilIgJLb6s0JdAwfaZiwY/s640/IMG_5216.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On my last morning there, after pulling an all-nighter writing recaps about seeing my favorite music in the most amazing venue in the world, I took a walk at 5 a.m. in the back woods from my humble motel room. The wind was making its own music swinging the trees into melodic rhythm, the birds squeaked, fluttered, swooped wildly... at home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0k7Qip11-pqTZBINDUPV7uGtFjuWm0zLvalZG3Hj_goLqqm7r7CnoBfpwjYYPmIk8th7Tmyp42KznzMHS1OhdJEJPoF8IVnYd8tih75FzY1Tb-U8_FcPMhIcDnw8s688AePx3fWeaP8/s1600/IMG_5210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0k7Qip11-pqTZBINDUPV7uGtFjuWm0zLvalZG3Hj_goLqqm7r7CnoBfpwjYYPmIk8th7Tmyp42KznzMHS1OhdJEJPoF8IVnYd8tih75FzY1Tb-U8_FcPMhIcDnw8s688AePx3fWeaP8/s640/IMG_5210.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In the meantime, I repeated: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Take this with you, take it into your heart."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Take this with you, take it into your heart."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Take this with you, take it into your heart." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-18267150299733956672011-05-23T00:57:00.002-04:002011-05-23T00:58:50.960-04:00<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5748447658/" title="Strangers"><img alt="Strangers by Snailentina" height="480" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5303/5748447658_4cb445509f.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5748447658/"></a></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Celebramos aniversario con una visita al museo Storm King. El día se puso de nuestro lado con perfección de nubes, brisita y sol. </div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-78009543782555247672011-05-20T22:50:00.006-04:002011-05-20T22:59:17.258-04:00El ideal<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5734201568/" title="No more hiding"><img alt="No more hiding by Snailentina" height="486" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5267/5734201568_b6c290bb3e.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5734201568/"></a></span></div>En los peores de los dias, como una oruga, lo mejorcito se esconde bajo la montaña de hojas muertas que dejo el invierno, protegiéndose de lo demás, será.<br />
<br />
De las inseguras ramificaciones, forzadas por el agua violenta que llega sin avisar, van saliendo las flores del cerezo. En los peores de los dias, pareciera que el dolor de parto por las hojas verdes no cesará nunca. ¿Se sentirá el árbol tan mal agradecido como yo en este viernes por la noche? Viendo la bendición del agua llegar sobre mí pero sin poder darle las gracias de corazón por que aún no huelo a cerezo... aún no veo lo verde venir... aun soy sólo una oruga. ¿Lo sentirá?<br />
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Este anuncio de periódico sugiere dejarse ir, pero hacen falta más llovidas.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-55658803704862284612011-05-10T11:37:00.002-04:002011-05-10T11:37:34.614-04:00Felicidad<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5705018829/" title="Felicidad"><img alt="Felicidad by Snailentina" height="208" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3386/5705018829_474b747a23.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5705018829/"></a></span></div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-54293287616899541632011-05-08T14:48:00.006-04:002011-11-03T00:31:35.741-04:00Feliz Día Mamita<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px; padding: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/snailentina/5685931372/" title="Mamita"><img alt="Mamita by Snailentina" height="640" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5250/5685931372_cbd6e8dabf.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Esta es mi mamá. Hace un par de viajes a Venezuela logré ir a la radio con ella y capturarla en su elemento. No sé de qué se estaba riendo, probablemente de algún chiste de Jefre, con el que siempre se la pasa en eso entre cortes comerciales. <br />
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Mi mamá ha estado haciendo radio y periodismo desde que tengo uso de razón, quiere decir por más de 28 años de su vida. Tiene muchos oyentes leales, seguidores por Twitter, y no se puede salir con ella a ninguna parte porque alguien la saluda y se pone a hablar con ella. Ella siempre tiene tiempo para todo el mundo. <br />
<br />
Directa o indirectamente, mi mamá es responsable por mi amor a las letras, pero sobre todo por querer leer entre lineas. No es de las que se sienta a acosejarte, pero si de las que escucha. De alguna manera cuando uno le cuenta algo, sale con una respuesta que no la dió ella, sino el hecho haber compartido la inquietud con ella. En silencio lo dice todo, eso es de maestros. <br />
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A veces lamento que no me sé cosas mas específicas de su vida, me gustaría saberlo todo, pero su memoria para esas cosas no es tan buena y también culpo a la distancia por esta falta de información. Lo que si sé es que lo que he aprendido de ella por como se ha comportado ante las cosas que le suceden, es pura clase ambulante, pero pícara al mismo tiempo. Dulce pero íntegra en sus decisiones. Sensible pero imparable. Hoy en el día de la madres, no tengo mucho que decirle más que gracias por ser la luz que nunca se apaga en el túnel de mi vida.<br />
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Te amo mami.</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-72262672004793807432011-05-03T00:15:00.002-04:002011-05-03T00:17:41.009-04:00Primavera<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_IjpEnk3ZAuC6axvmWQwcplCg1bfGMlNHiR20Lgy8tfDFCdBoK5ytknEi4TrbMSn1w6JOUKdiGC16kHZN8HXXtW78uqCFi68a1WbPp4t1vnM8-zTE93NqadrmPe6gRYya9OutCzlKoo/s1600/buck-skully.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_IjpEnk3ZAuC6axvmWQwcplCg1bfGMlNHiR20Lgy8tfDFCdBoK5ytknEi4TrbMSn1w6JOUKdiGC16kHZN8HXXtW78uqCFi68a1WbPp4t1vnM8-zTE93NqadrmPe6gRYya9OutCzlKoo/s640/buck-skully.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Este fin de semana nos fuimos de paseo a Pensilvania. Llenamos los días con amigos, arte, risas, comida y familia. Como los árboles se dejan nutrir con lluvias de primavera y el sol que va y viene entre nubes, yo recogí las semillas que fui recibiendo en el camino. Los regalos que la gente te da sin saberlo. Las cosas que salen de las entrañas de la naturaleza que parecen muertas pero vibran con vida. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Le permití a todo lo verde que tomara raiz en mi corazón. </div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-46658737948727643062011-04-24T20:29:00.000-04:002011-04-24T20:29:38.092-04:00Todo está comenzando a florecer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH94vm1hxMAHhgqGFz0pKtacXpoE9vt-d-oLWRIEZJDiJh1R8_qEA5dgwA_ELdhM0tzzNfc5qtxSH2niLkfmvKZ8oFKzCAbgjGdNT57zXW5tvodYsiR5DLKJFPKIsXW5K5dp4FR7zqig/s1600/IMG_4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH94vm1hxMAHhgqGFz0pKtacXpoE9vt-d-oLWRIEZJDiJh1R8_qEA5dgwA_ELdhM0tzzNfc5qtxSH2niLkfmvKZ8oFKzCAbgjGdNT57zXW5tvodYsiR5DLKJFPKIsXW5K5dp4FR7zqig/s640/IMG_4109.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mi árbol favorito de la cuadra</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-47271937673185935972011-04-13T00:40:00.003-04:002011-04-14T00:44:38.951-04:00After Rivers and Tides<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rwc.uc.edu/artcomm/web/w2005_2006/maria_Goldsworthy/TEST/index.html"><img border="0" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7heIFevWGG83nGdUwApaGQCorzpBKBqtOEQR4alxazaMYI35hF90bZY1vzCiy134ZesxZVkV7RMVeLz38QTFhFwN3QYMYFUXoI4H4pmY5HrxNUrmc21zhG6dVs_iZ8iNzIV5mIj-zj-M/s640/broken-stone-spiral.jpg" width="640" />Broken pebbles / scratched white with another stone, June, 1985, St. Abbs, The Borders © Andy Goldsworthy</a></div><br />
Is there thunder where you live?<br />
Because I'm being put to bed by it.<br />
Do you hear violent drops on your ceiling?<br />
First a thud, then their gentle disintegration sliding down the glass,<br />
and the gasp of the grass as its opening wide<br />
the mouth, waiting patiently for this moment,<br />
cumbersome to the walkers,<br />
a lullaby to me,<br />
life to it, springing. <br />
Alone in your apartment,<br />
where silence is enjoying an unwelcome stay,<br />
is this April shower finally making it vanish?<br />
Could it maybe fall hard on you, cracking open all your wounds<br />
and ravaging them deeply, until there is nothing left?Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-77113375119317473122011-02-19T16:21:00.001-05:002011-02-19T16:22:55.147-05:00Que tengas un buen viaje, Tío TeofiloNo sé si fue cuando recordé tu cabeza blanquita y canosa, o esa sonrisa llena de paz que siempre me ofreciste, pero hoy cuando te mande un mensaje de despedida con mi papá se me llenaron de lágrimas los ojos repentinamente. Con una mezcla entre tristeza y felicidad, mi parte apegada pensó en que más nunca podria ver tu sonrisa o escuchar tu bendición. Pero la otra parte, la más fuerte, se alegró de saber que definitivamente ibas hacia la luz, pues no tengo en mi memoria a nadie más noble que tú.<br />
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Verás Tío, yo conocí poco de ti, y mas aprendí de los hechos de tu vida leyendo la hermosa carta con la que te homenajeo Domingo Carrasquero, que lo que pudiste compartir conmigo en vida. Pero es esa falta de información lo que me hace pensar que llegué a conocer a tu verdadero ser. Cuando cierro los ojos y pienso en tí, te veo claramente sentado bajo un árbol margariteño, parándote inmediatamente cuando veias que se acercaba el carro de nosotros, y con Tia Aleja, tu compañera de vida, estabas siempre listo para ofrecernos alguito de beber para acompañar la conversa. Desde siempre, cuando nos ibamos de tu casa Alejandra, Gaby y yo simplemente deciamos, "es tan bello." Eras una luz, y de cierto modo doy gracias por no saber muchísimo de ti, más que eras un hombre lleno de amor genuino. Eso me es suficiente hoy para pensar que vas a estar bien, porque una vida más linda no se pudo haber tenido.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-32523387959347415472011-02-08T21:14:00.004-05:002011-02-09T00:16:49.040-05:00Mi Primer Amanecer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhig-cZ7Ss8F8M5YPZEGj84tro2VnNwSbbGZw16x6sfixTPZkzkQz5tDnAMJ3TgtKRJ-XVIXqUTwSG2dfQLZ71IXh0uwcEHE6dYW0B8IVF2QiJEFEW8VDFXTZ0GfY3jqPA-lOZRm6MfTrU/s1600/miami-sunrise2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhig-cZ7Ss8F8M5YPZEGj84tro2VnNwSbbGZw16x6sfixTPZkzkQz5tDnAMJ3TgtKRJ-XVIXqUTwSG2dfQLZ71IXh0uwcEHE6dYW0B8IVF2QiJEFEW8VDFXTZ0GfY3jqPA-lOZRm6MfTrU/s320/miami-sunrise2.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>Cuando estuve en <span class="il">Miami</span> el diciembre pasado, la llamada que me despertó de cumpleaños fue la de Alejandra y Carlos. Me sali de la cama con el propósito de ver amanecer sobre el mar.<br />
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Encima del horizonte se veian nubes gordas como si rozando la superficie. Y de repente a las nubes le comenzaron a crecer cabellos dorados hacia todas las direciones, asi como estaba el mio, despeinado.<br />
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Haciendo su preámbulo, el sol solamente amenazaba con salir pero despues de un tiempito empezó a apartar a las nubes y al mar con una linea fina naranja. Se hace esperar, pensé. Lentamente el vacio se hacia más grande, más anaranjado pero aun no se notaba su forma, hasta que la parte de arriba del circulo se fue desvistiendo y se despilfarró encima del agua que ya no era azul sino rosa con miel.<br />
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Me pareció tan insólito pensar que este espectáculo ocurre todos los dias de maneras distintas y que este al alcance de todos disfrutar del show. Sin embargo, nunca me despierto a las 6:30 para verlo, y es más me atreveria a decir que hasta mi cumpleaños numero 28 nunca lo habia detallado, y mucho menos con tanta curiosidad gatuna. Pero tal vez por eso fue, era el regalo específico de este cumpleaños.Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6929149728947622326.post-67311604306026368792011-02-04T00:55:00.001-05:002011-02-04T17:27:43.161-05:00Aprendiendo del Agave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GalLkHDRCAkmMZjau98hc8bzyzvqPVJ4Cn405HApKQutbdDAabxYqaX_asSrA4lymJ2KqZH28dQJVjTLVjxC8byo3hgYX5f5QKDGG4lQRHGNUU6ZRQn5ryECdenwo_Kx-txqexBY3JY/s1600/5399548437_0732f2c28b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GalLkHDRCAkmMZjau98hc8bzyzvqPVJ4Cn405HApKQutbdDAabxYqaX_asSrA4lymJ2KqZH28dQJVjTLVjxC8byo3hgYX5f5QKDGG4lQRHGNUU6ZRQn5ryECdenwo_Kx-txqexBY3JY/s640/5399548437_0732f2c28b_b.jpg" width="640" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Nunca me imagine que algun dia de mi vida estaria rodeada de Agave Azul con un volcán de testigo en hectareas que se extienden mas allá de la visión con esa planta sagrada que da dulces, papel, tequila y define gran parte de la cultura de un país.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Como todo lo que parece valer algo en esta existencia, mi experiencia se hizo esperar, como lo hace un buen tequila. Estando frente al Agave, me di cuenta que el ser humano sin paciencia nunca conseguiria nada bueno. Es una virtud dificil de adquirir, pero ahora, más que nunca, estoy convencida que es la más importante en la que trabajar todos los dias.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cuando nos tomamos un tequila, es seguro que ni pensemos de donde vino, como se hizo, o que el proceso es labor de muchas personas empezando por los grandes “jimadores” que plantan, podan, cuidan y miman al Agave desde que tocan la tierra volcánica. Lo mismo cuando nos comemos una ensalada llena de vegetales que tienen historia, pero no la sabemos, esos alimentos vienen llenos de un colmado de paciencia, que indirectamente nos deben transmitir aunque sea un poquito de ella para tal vez no explotar en la fila del banco. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Especialmente el tequila es una obra de sudor y espera. Los agaves son sembrados, y dia tras dia, los jimadores madrugan con el sol en los campos para hacerles mantenimiento. Uno cualquiera puede incluir hacer “cortes de pelo” a los agaves. Desde el estilo “farolito,” donde se cortan solo las puntitas de sus pencas, o tipo “arbolito” si deben podarse mas para crecer sanos, o el punketo “castigado” que deja a la planta un poquito avergonzada, pues sus extremidades son devoradas por la coa –uno de los tantos instrumentos de los jimadores. O tal vez, sea un dia de apartar a los “hijuelos” de las plantas madres para ser examinados y determinar si algun dia podran dar una buena “piña,” el centro que queda de la planta luego del corte de pelo final que los enviara al horno, un paso mas cerca a ser el elixir Mexicano. Una fulminante manchita marrón con matices rojos en la base del hijuelo determina si el candidato va a la horneada, o se convertira en fertilizador, un rol no menos importante. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Una de las cosas mas lindas de la cultivación de agave es que todo regresa de alguna manera u otra a la tierra de la que salió. Ni siquiera los retazos que sobran despues de los cortes de pelo se pierden, ellos tambien tienen su misión, hacer crecer a los demás. Sera posible ver nuestras más dolorosas experiencias así? Cuando se nos caen retazos, a donde van? Sera que no son mas que fertilizantes que regresan a nuestra alma a remendar los vacios? Me pregunto: Cuando los agaves sembrados sienten a los fertilizadores, los reconoceran como la parte de ellos que alguna vez fue? Sentiran que no hay separación y que todos son lo mismo? Y sería posible que lo mismo ocurra con nosotros los humanos? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Snailentinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884981840640775665noreply@blogger.com4