Pellet Stove Dust In House

ZEN

elderly, have learned to use the term in different contexts, but it was not until recently that I have clearly understood the real sense that my mother gave him then. Mental laziness, which is always linked to carelessness and inattention, is one of the most common defects among adults and children. The effort involved in doing something wrong, or put things out of place, assumed the same expenditure of energy to do it properly. The only way to save that energy is not. It costs exactly the same work to collect a room that seems to only pick-and I think this is what my mother wanted us to understand-with the difference that the former is much more useful: it is often helpful to find things later. Therefore, in the medium term even saves energy because there is no wasted time or effort looking for them (where the hell I put it?). The difference is that to keep everything in place (meaning place anywhere that is reasonable) before you have to spend a few seconds to think about how or where.

A certain amount of mental discipline is the basis of logical thought and therefore it depends on everything that reasonably could have on humans. Therefore, analyzing the degree of mental laziness of those around us can be a good criterion when judging people. I mean, since I left home I met all sorts of people, men and women have lived with some-sometimes by choice, others by necessity, almost always with disastrous results (in both cases). Over the years I have noted that most were seriously suffering from mental laziness that is, their heads were fatally furnished. At first glance it may seem like a trivial matter (what a beautiful word!) But, other than make life difficult for me, I'm pretty neat and a little cranky, has allowed me to discover that mental laziness is often the attribute of those who care more about appearances that the essence of things (some exceptions: those whose mental activity is so highly abstract that can not really notice anything around them, but these exceptional beings tend not elaborate). Ergo, things were very simple and superficial intellectual varnish applied (although in these times being branded an intellectual is nothing short of an insult).

APOSTILLE: Let no one think that my mother was a severe, once properly arranged our rooms, then forgot her anger, regained his usual good humor and never kept the penalties imposed during the heated discussion.

EPILOGUE: It's this little box story appeared in the same count as the previous papers, also is dedicated to my mother, but neither can read it.

What Does It Mean If Your Genetal Warts Bleed?

This is the music box Cerrado

Since childhood I wanted to have a dollhouse, but I knew my mother did not buy it because we could not afford. The doll house was part of a collection of treasured jealously somewhere in my head with a label saying "things I buy when I grow up and have my own money. "
At twelve I saw Judge hanging of John Huston (in that film, the Lido de Barcelona, \u200b\u200bapplied acccediera policy that anyone who could afford the entrance) and a detail of the film was in my mind, Roy Bean, the judge, he promised his lover that he would give Mexico a music box to store your jewelry as did the real ladies. In the end, I bought the music box, almost too late, because when she handed it dying. Since that day the music box, took his place next to the doll house and all those things he wanted and not could have.
was a few months, returned to settle in Madrid and arrived shortly after my thirteenth birthday. Earlier that day my mother asked me, as so often, to accompany her to make the purchase. But instead to move toward the market, climbed to the top of our street, where a luxury gift shop that was called (I still remember it) Toupie .
entered, my mother asked to see the music boxes, the lady pulled out several small and modest, and I looked very ugly, when she realized it was for me, just a girl. I did not like and my mother did, I remember all were stretched like tiny coffins. My mother read the disappointment on my face and asked to see better ones. The lady said the others were very expensive, my mother, but probably did not spend so much he insisted. The lady went into the back room and brought other more luxurious. Three boxes of those that have two floors open, and opened. Two of them were also ugly, with a ridiculous plastic and tulle ballerina who turned to the sound of music. But the third was beautiful: outside was a landscape in red and black lacquer inlaid with mother of pearl, on the inside of the lid, a mirror on it was painted a delicate seascape with boats and seagulls white on a sea of \u200b\u200bblue ink. I guess my mother read the pleasure on my face because they pointed and said, "that". Mrs. wrapped and my mother moved away so I do not look like the paid (assuming that it is rude to disclose the price of the gifts, and I guess I did not want to reject the realization that it was too expensive) . I do not know what it cost but I was sure that by far the most luxurious gift that could have a little girl of thirteen. For days
proudly showed it to everyone who came to our house, even invited my friends from school to home only to see it. For years he was one of my most prized possessions, a treasure that I showed always my new friend.
The obsessively cleaned, squeezed out until it was shining bright and I loved to wind and hear the music. He had a gentle melody and delicate, very oriental, and distinct from the usual Fur Elise. My desire for cleanliness was very upset cause: trying to clean the mirror, clouded by dust and handling, used alcohol, while rubbing checked erased terrified as the beautiful landscape, but I stopped rubbing and breathed on the glass to the alcohol to evaporate, almost all the gulls disappeared and only two boats were saved and the mountain background. The dislike me for several days.

The music box will open, in the mirror they still

be seen the two boats, the mountain

and left, a lone seagull

As I got older the music box has lost some of its relevance. Although no longer wound it to always sound the melody when opened, or every visitor enthused, always inspired me a special love and never failed to fulfill its mission as a jeweler. Over time suffered minor damage, bruises and scratches, small wounds irreversible ... and ceased to be unique to be accompanied by a multitude of cases, with and without music, because it awakened in me a passion for collecting. Today, half cleared landscape and marks of blows, is still the most beautiful and dear to my collection.

(This is something I wrote years ago, that I dedicate to my mother, although as where is no internet, can not read it yet).

posted by Ondina 23:50 2 comments

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MUSIC BOX OF ALCOHOL VAPORS

Last night I had dinner with a very great friend to I appreciate as few others in a restaurant where I enjoyed the best Steak Tartare (I am a carnivore, sorry) I've had in my life. A restaurant is a bit presumptuous but with a fantastic kitchen and the maitre convencino is my friend.
The place is such that enliven the evening with a pianist. The first series of the piano was nice and nothing else. The second reminded me of a story with an old flame, and for those who live in Madrid (and you have a certain age), a dear old place that no longer exists. The piano stayed awoke a little souvenir. I do not know if many remember Airplane, a bar, almost mythical near the Plaza Manuel Becerra, closed a few months after I moved to live in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bthat is, a little over a decade. It was a dark hole and rundown, characterized primarily by two aspects: the carpeted floor of the sunflower seed shells that the house served for free with all drinks, and his pianist, almost as antiquated as local, that was entertaining evenings playing ballads and tangos. (Shortly after closing local pianist died, say that nostalgia.)
was there one night I received the praise / compliment more fantastic than I have ever spent. I was with someone I loved (and who then was very dear to me)-the same as the dedication of Nobody is perfect, a book of interviews with Billy Wilder gave me, was able to write: "Nobody is perfect, but you make me doubt." At one point I left the table to go to the bathroom when I came back he said, "you're not going to believe, but the next table (where there were two mixed pairs) told me: 'Congratulations, girl who is with you is precious' when I asked him to wait for you to come back and I told you in person, he answered me: 'I'm telling you, because the merit is yours for having conquered' (perhaps the words were not exactly that, but that's what I said unknown).
My companion was flattering in nature, so while I expected it, gave him little credit, thinking it was a story he had invented for me to make me feel good (or even better, because well, very well, I felt). .. until "the table next door", which should have captured part of our conversation, he decided to interrupt to corroborate what I told my companion had happened that way. I have not felt so flattered in my life. That night my contribution, which by then was very high, up several points, as no incentive both to appreciate what we have, like the fact that others appreciate or envy ...
memory mechanisms are unusual, I noted something about it in other entries, but the truth is that this memory almost forgotten has returned to the beats of an old sentimental ballad - Killing Me Softly with His Song - played by a pianist unknown. The only song that the pianist peculiar Airplane, which was very much his own, agreed to play one night (other than the one I mentioned) at the request of a customer (the same as that other night), that asking for his girlfriend (the same as that other night).
above is very personal and maybe a little sappy, I wrote last night, although I polished a bit today. Something must have to do with it, the bottle of wine that we drank side by side, four and four Limoncina Carajillo ... but it's funny to post it here as you read.