REASONS WHY - by Joanna Fuchs

  

REASONS  WHY by  Joanna Fuchs Our love is the long lasting kind;We’ve been together quite awhile.I love you for so many things,Your voice, your touch, your kiss, your smile. You accept me as I am;I can relax and just be me.Even when my quirks come out,You think they’re cute; you let me be. With you, there’s nothing to resist;You’re irresistible to me.I’m drawn to you in total trust;I give myself to you willingly. Your sweet devotion never fails;You view me with a patient heart.You love me, dear, no matter what.You’ve been that way right from the start. Those are just a few reasons whyI’ll always love you like I do.We’ll have a lifetime full of love,And it will happen because of you.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE WEDDING - by F. M. DOSTOYEVSKY

 

The other day I saw a wedding... But no! I would rather tell you about a Christmas tree. The wedding was superb. I liked it immensely. But the other incident was still finer. I don’t know why it is that the sight of the wedding reminded me of the Christmas tree. This is the way it happened:

Exactly five years ago, on New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a children’s ball by a man high up in the business world, who had his connections, his circle of acquaintances, and his intrigues. So it seemed as though the children’s ball was merely a pretext for the parents to come together and discuss matters of interest to themselves, quite innocently and casually.

I was an outsider, and, as I had no special matters to air, I was able to spend the evening independently of the others. There was another gentleman present who like myself had just stumbled upon this affair of domestic bliss. He was the first to attract my attention. His appearance was not that of a man of birth or high family. He was tall, rather thin, very serious, and well dressed. Apparently he had no heart for the family festivities. The instant he went off into a corner by himself the smile disappeared from his face, and his thick dark brows knitted into a frown. He knew no one except the host and showed every sign of being bored to death, though bravely sustaining the role of thorough enjoyment to the end. Later I learned that he was a provincial, had come to the capital on some important, brain-racking business, had brought a letter of recommendation to our host, and our host had taken him under his protection, not at all con amore. It was merely out of politeness that he had invited him to the children’s ball.

They did not play cards with him, they did not offer him cigars. No one entered into conversation with him. Possibly they recognised the bird by its feathers from a distance. Thus, my gentleman, not knowing what to do with his hands, was compelled to spend the evening stroking his whiskers. His whiskers were really fine, but he stroked them so assiduously that one got the feeling that the whiskers had come into the world first and afterwards the man in order to stroke them.

There was another guest who interested me. But he was of quite a different order. He was a personage. They called him Julian Mastakovich. At first glance one could tell he was an honoured guest and stood in the same relation to the host as the host to the gentleman of the whiskers. The host and hostess said no end of amiable things to him, were most attentive, wining him, hovering over him, bringing guests up to be introduced, but never leading him to any one else. I noticed tears glisten in our host’s eyes when Julian Mastakovich remarked that he had rarely spent such a pleasant evening. Somehow I began to feel uncomfortable in this personage’s presence. So, after amusing myself with the children, five of whom, remarkably well-fed young persons, were our host’s, I went into a little sitting-room, entirely unoccupied, and seated myself at the end that was a conservatory and took up almost half the room.

The children were charming. They absolutely refused to resemble their elders, notwithstanding the efforts of mothers and governesses. In a jiffy they had denuded the Christmas tree down to the very last sweet and had already succeeded in breaking half of their playthings before they even found out which belonged to whom.

One of them was a particularly handsome little lad, dark-eyed, curly-haired, who stubbornly persisted in aiming at me with his wooden gun. But the child that attracted the greatest attention was his sister, a girl of about eleven, lovely as a Cupid. She was quiet and thoughtful, with large, full, dreamy eyes. The children had somehow offended her, and she left them and walked into the same room that I had withdrawn into. There she seated herself with her doll in a corner.

“Her father is an immensely wealthy business man,” the guests informed each other in tones of awe. “Three hundred thousand rubles set aside for her dowry already.”

As I turned to look at the group from which I heard this news item issuing, my glance met Julian Mastakovich’s. He stood listening to the insipid chatter in an attitude of concentrated attention, with his hands behind his back and his head inclined to one side.

All the while I was quite lost in admiration of the shrewdness our host displayed in the dispensing of the gifts. The little maid of the many-rubied dowry received the handsomest doll, and the rest of the gifts were graded in value according to the diminishing scale of the parents’ stations in life. The last child, a tiny chap of ten, thin, red-haired, freckled, came into possession of a small book of nature stories without illustrations or even head and tail pieces. He was the governess’s child. She was a poor widow, and her little boy, clad in a sorry-looking little nankeen jacket, looked thoroughly crushed and intimidated. He took the book of nature stories and circled slowly about the children’s toys. He would have given anything to play with them. But he did not dare to. You could tell he already knew his place.

I like to observe children. It is fascinating to watch the individuality in them struggling for self-assertion. I could see that the other children’s things had tremendous charm for the red-haired boy, especially a toy theatre, in which he was so anxious to take a part that he resolved to fawn upon the other children. He smiled and began to play with them. His one and only apple he handed over to a puffy urchin whose pockets were already crammed with sweets, and he even carried another youngster pickaback, all simply that he might be allowed to stay with the theatre.

But in a few moments an impudent young person fell on him and gave him a pummelling. He did not dare even to cry. The governess came and told him to leave off interfering with the other children’s games, and he crept away to the same room the little girl and I were in. She let him sit down beside her, and the two set themselves busily dressing the expensive doll.

Almost half an hour passed, and I was nearly dozing off, as I sat there in the conservatory half listening to the chatter of the red haired boy and the dowered beauty, when Julian Mastakovich entered suddenly. He had slipped out of the drawing-room under cover of a noisy scene among the children. From my secluded corner it had not escaped my notice that a few moments before he had been eagerly conversing with the rich girl’s father, to whom he had only just been introduced.

He stood still for a while reflecting and mumbling to himself, as if counting something on his fingers.

“Three hundred - three hundred - eleven - twelve - thirteen - sixteen in five years! Let’s say four per cent - five times twelve - sixty, and on these sixty. Let us assume that in five years it will amount to well, four hundred. Hm - hm! But the shrewd old fox isn’t likely to be satisfied with four per cent. He gets eight or even ten, perhaps. Let’s suppose five hundred, five hundred thousand, at least, that’s sure. Anything above that for pocket money - hm...”

He blew his nose and was about to leave the room when he spied the girl and stood still. I, behind the plants, escaped his notice. He seemed to me to be quivering with excitement. It must have been his calculations that upset him so. He rubbed his hands and danced from place to place, and kept getting more and more excited. Finally, however, he conquered his emotions and came to a standstill. He cast a determined look at the future bride and wanted to move toward her, but glanced about first. Then, as if with a guilty conscience, he stepped over to the child on tip-toe, smiling, and bent down and kissed her head.

His coming was so unexpected that she uttered a shriek of alarm.

“What are you doing here, dear child ?” he whispered, looking around and pinching her cheek.

“We’re playing.”

“What, with him?” said Julian Mastakovich with a look askance at the governess’s child. “You should go into the drawing-room, my lad,” he said to him.

The boy remained silent and looked up at the man with wide-open eyes. Julian Mastakovich glanced round again cautiously and bent down over the girl.

“What have you got, a doll, my dear?”

“Yes, sir.” The child quailed a little, and her brow wrinkled.

“A doll? And do you know, my dear, what dolls are made of?”

“No, sir,” she said weakly, and lowered her head.

“Out of rags, my dear. You, boy, you go back to the drawing-room, to the children,” said Julian Mastakovich looking at the boy sternly.

The two children frowned. They caught hold of each other and would not part.

“And do you know why they gave you the doll?” asked Julian Mastakovich, dropping his voice lower and lower.

“No.”

“Because you were a good, very good little girl the whole week.”

Saying which, Julian Mastakovich was seized with a paroxysm of agitation. He looked round and said in a tone faint, almost inaudible with excitement and impatience:

“If I come to visit your parents will you love me, my dear?”

He tried to kiss the sweet little creature, but the red-haired boy saw that she was on the verge of tears, and he caught her hand and sobbed out loud in sympathy. That enraged the man.

“Go away! Go away! Go back to the other room, to your playmates.”

“I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to! You go away!” cried the girl. “Let him alone! Let him alone!” She was almost weeping.

There was a sound of footsteps in the doorway. Julian Mastakovich started and straightened up his respectable body. The red-haired boy was even more alarmed. He let go the girl’s hand, sidled along the wall, and escaped through the drawing-room into the dining-room.

Not to attract attention, Julian Mastakovich also made for the dining-room. He was red as a lobster. The sight of himself in a mirror seemed to embarrass him. Presumably he was annoyed at his own ardour and impatience. Without due respect to his importance and dignity, his calculations had lured and pricked him to the greedy eagerness of a boy, who makes straight for his object - though this was not as yet an object; it only would be so in five years’ time. I followed the worthy man into the dining-room, where I witnessed a remarkable play.

Julian Mastakovich, all flushed with vexation, venom in his look, began to threaten the red-haired boy. The red-haired boy retreated farther and farther until there was no place left for him to retreat to, and he did not know where to turn in his fright.

“Get out of here! What are you doing here? Get out, I say, you good-for-nothing! Stealing fruit, are you? Oh, so, stealing fruit! Get out, you freckle face, go to your likes!”

The frightened child, as a last desperate resort, crawled quickly under the table. His persecutor, completely infuriated, pulled out his large linen handkerchief and used it as a lash to drive the boy out of his position.

Here I must remark that Julian Mastakovich was a somewhat corpulent man, heavy, well-fed, puffy-cheeked, with a paunch and ankles as round as nuts. He perspired and puffed and panted. So strong was his dislike (or was it jealousy?) of the child that he actually began to carry on like a madman.

I laughed heartily. Julian Mastakovich turned. He was utterly confused and for a moment, apparently, quite oblivious of his immense importance. At that moment our host appeared in the doorway opposite. The boy crawled out from under the table and wiped his knees and elbows. Julian Mastakovich hastened to carry his handkerchief, which he had been dangling by the corner, to his nose. Our host looked at the three of us rather suspiciously. But, like a man who knows the world and can readily adjust himself, he seized upon the opportunity to lay hold of his very valuable guest and get what he wanted out of him.

“Here’s the boy I was talking to you about,” he said, indicating the red-haired child. “I took the liberty of presuming on your goodness in his behalf.”

“Oh,” replied Julian Mastakovich, still not quite master of himself.

“He’s my governess’s son,” our host continued in a beseeching tone. “She’s a poor creature, the widow of an honest official. That’s why, if it were possible for you ”

“Impossible, impossible!” Julian Mastakovich cried hastily. “You must excuse me, Philip Alexeyevich, I really cannot. I’ve made inquiries. There are no vacancies, and there is a waiting list of ten who have a greater right , I’m sorry.”

“Too bad,” said our host. “He’s a quiet, unobtrusive child.”

“A very naughty little rascal, I should say,” said Julian Mastakovich, wryly. “Go away, boy. Why are you here still? Be off with you to the other children.”

Unable to control himself, he gave me a sidelong glance. Nor could I control myself. I laughed straight in his face. He turned away and asked our host, in tones quite audible to me, who that odd young fellow was. They whispered to each other and left the room, disregarding me.

I shook with laughter. Then I, too, went to the drawing-room. There the great man, already surrounded by the fathers and mothers and the host and the hostess, had begun to talk eagerly with a lady to whom he had just been introduced. The lady held the rich little girl’s hand. Julian Mastakovich went into fulsome praise of her. He waxed ecstatic over the dear child’s beauty, her talents, her grace, her excellent breeding, plainly laying himself out to flatter the mother, who listened scarcely able to restrain tears of joy, while the father showed his delight by a gratified smile.

The joy was contagious. Everybody shared in it. Even the children were obliged to stop playing so as not to disturb the conversation. The atmosphere was surcharged with awe. I heard the mother of the important little girl, touched to her profoundest depths, ask Julian Mastakovich in the choicest language of courtesy, whether he would honour them by coming to see them. I heard Julian Mastakovich accept the invitation with unfeigned enthusiasm. Then the guests scattered decorously to different parts of the room, and I heard them, with veneration in their tones, extol the business man, the business man’s wife, the business man’s daughter, and, especially, Julian Mastakovich.

“Is he married?” I asked out loud of an acquaintance of mine standing beside Julian Mastakovich.

Julian Mastakovich gave me a venomous look.

“No,” answered my acquaintance, profoundly shocked by my - intentional - indiscretion.

***

Not long ago I passed the Church of ---. I was struck by the concourse of people gathered there to witness a wedding. It was a dreary day. A drizzling rain was beginning to come down. I made my way through the throng into the church. The bridegroom was a round, well-fed, pot-bellied little man, very much dressed up. He ran and fussed about and gave orders and arranged things. Finally word was passed that the bride was coming. I pushed through the crowd, and I beheld a marvellous beauty whose first spring was scarcely commencing. But the beauty was pale and sad. She looked distracted. It seemed to me even that her eyes were red from recent weeping. The classic severity of every line of her face imparted a peculiar significance and solemnity to her beauty. But through that severity and solemnity, through the sadness, shone the innocence of a child. There was something inexpressibly naive, unsettled and young in her features, which, without words, seemed to plead for mercy.

They said she was just sixteen years old. I looked at the bridegroom carefully. Suddenly I recognised Julian Mastakovich, whom I had not seen again in all those five years. Then I looked at the bride again. - Good God! I made my way, as quickly as I could, out of the church. I heard gossiping in the crowd about the bride’s wealth about her dowry of five hundred thousand rubles so and so much for pocket money.

“Then his calculations were correct,” I thought, as I pressed out into the street.

THE BRIGHT COLORS OF THE IRISH CITY - KINSALE

 

BULGARIAN PAINTER - VASIL GORANOV

 

Vasil Goranov is a contemporary painter from Bulgaria. He was born in Velingrad in 1972 and studied at Veliko Tarnovo University.

His works are present in many international exhibitions and enjoy the appreciation of both critics and art lovers.

You will understand why after looking at some of his paintings:

HEALTH AND MEDICINAL BENEFITS OF RAISINS

 

HEALTH  AND  MEDICINAL  BENEFITS  OF  RAISINS 1. HELP  IN  DIGESTION : Having a few raisins every day is good for your stomach. Raisins contain fibres that start to swell in the presence of water. These give a laxative effect to the stomach and help in relieving constipation. Also, daily intake of raisins keeps the bowel movement regular and the fibers help to keep toxins and waste products out of the system. 2. REDUCE ACIDITY : Raisins contain potassium and magnesium in good levels. These help reduce acidity and help remove the toxins from the system, preventing diseases like arthritis, gout, kidney stones and heart diseases  3. HELP  AGAINST  ANAEMIA : Raisins have a good amount of iron and B-Complex vitamins in them which help to treat anaemia . The copper present in raisins also helps in the production of red blood cells. 4. HELP  PREVENT  CANCER : An antioxidant named cateching present in raisins helps in protecting the body against the free radical activity that can cause tumours and colon cancer  5. HELP TREAT INFECTIONS : Raisins contain polyphenolic phytonutrients, which are well known as anti-inflammatory antioxidants. They exhibit antibacterial properties that help lower the risk of fever and kill the bacteria. Thus, having a few raisins a day can keep you safe from cold and other such infections. 6. FOR  THE  EYES : Raisins are found to be rich in polyphenolic phytonutrients which are antioxidants that help in keeping your eyesight strong. The antioxidants in raisins help in protecting the eyes by reducing the free radical action that weakens the vision and causes muscular degeneration as well as cataract. Also, as raisins have vitamin A, beta carotene and A-Carotenoid and they are super good for the eyes 7. FOR YOUR MOUTH AND DENTAL CARE : Raisins contain oleanolic acid which is one of the phytochemicals which is essential to keep your teeth safe from decay, cavities as well as brittle teeth. Raisins prevent the growth of bacteria in the mouth to keep the teeth in good shape. As they contain calcium in good quantities, they also prevent the teeth from peeling away or breakage. The boron present in raisins is good for keeping germ build-up in the mouth low 8. FOR YOUR WEIGHT MANAGEMENT : If you are desperately trying to gain weight, then these raisins are your best friends. Raisins are rich in fructose and glucose and give you loads of energy. They will help you gain weight without accumulating bad cholestero 9. FOR GOOD BONES : Raisins also contain good amounts of calcium which is good for bone health . They help you from arthritis and gout. SELECTION  AND  STORAGE:     Packed or canned raisins are available in the local grocery store throughout the year. Several brands and grades of raisins are available, so always buy raisins of good quality.     Raisins are available in small serving-size boxes and large containers. Try to purchase raisins that are sold in transparent containers, or loose, so that you can check their quality. While buying packaged raisins, make sure that the container is properly sealed and is not tampered.     Substandard and low quality raisins have thin flesh and very poor taste. Buy raisins that are plump in appearance and are not very shriveled.     Avoid buying old stocks and those that have molds, excess moisture or are rotten as this will affect their appearance and edibility.     Shake the box or container and avoid buying boxes that rattle loudly as this indicates that the raisins have dried out.     Raisins are best consumed within six months from the date of purchase.     Proper storage is very important for maintaining the freshness and the quality of raisins.     Raisins are ideally kept in a cool and dry place. They stay fresh for more than two months if kept in an airtight container and will last even more if stored in a refrigerator.     Refrigeration is recommended if you are preserving the raisins for later consumption. You can store them in the refrigerator for up to one year and in the freezer for up to two years. Prolonged cold storage may result in the crystallization of the sugar content of raisins.     To prevent the crystallization, transfer the raisins from the container to an airtight storage bag and press out the air as much as possible. Seal the bag properly and place it in the refrigerator or the kitchen cabinet. This will prevent the raisins from crystallizing or turning stale. You can even soak them in warm water to dissolve their crystals.

NATURE'S WHISPER - by Aufie Zophy

 

NATURE'S  WHISPER by Aufie Zophy A soft whisper from nature has entered my breathI swallowed and inhaled it to my lungs' deepest depthand now it is tickling my heart and my mindIt keeps humming a song of love and being kind Whenever I feel lazy to give help to a friend,it will make me reach out anyhow a loving hand.The small voice gives me peace and harmony;it awakens a sense of the beauty of reality It encourages me to stop living based on my greedIt reminds me that grace and love is a much bigger need.Dear small whisper of nature, please do not leave meI cherish you so much, feel welcome to stay eternally

LOVE AND BEAUTY - by Aufie Zophy

 

LOVE  AND  BEAUTY by  Aufie Zophy The universe has given me a million flowersJust for me to see and smell and adorePerhaps there were many moreThat is something I am truly grateful for I enjoyed a thousands of friendship hoursLovely, touching my heart and my soul's corePerhaps there were many moreThat is something I am truly grateful for Oh my God in this big universeIn love and beauty, we are immersedAll we have to do is open our heart and mindBeauty, love and friendship for all of humankind

LEISURE - by W. H. Davies

 

LEISURE by  W. H. Davies      What is this life if, full of care,     We have no time to stand and stare.     No time to stand beneath the boughs     And stare as long as sheep or cows.     No time to see, when woods we pass,     Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.     No time to see, in broad daylight,     Streams full of stars, like skies at night.     No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,     And watch her feet, how they can dance.     No time to wait till her mouth can     Enrich that smile her eyes began.     A poor life this if, full of care,     We have no time to stand and stare.

A PSALM OF LIFE - by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

A  PSALM  OF  LIFE by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow    Tell me not, in mournful numbers,     Life is but an empty dream!     For the soul is dead that slumbers,     And things are not what they seem.  Life is real ! Life is earnest !     And the grave is not its goal;     Dust thou art, to dust returnest,     Was not spoken of the soul.     Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,     Is our destined end or way;     But to act, that each tomorrow     Find us farther than today. Art is long, and Time is fleeting,     And our hearts, though stout and brave,     Still, like muffled drums, are beating     Funeral marches to the grave.     In the world’s broad field of battle,     In the bivouac of Life,     Be not like dumb, driven cattle !     Be a hero in the strife !   Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!     Let the dead Past bury its dead !     Act, - act in the living Present !     Heart within, and God o’erhead !     Lives of great men all remind us     We can make our lives sublime,     And, departing, leave behind us     Footprints on the sands of time;  Footprints, that perhaps another,     Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,     A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,     Seeing, shall take heart again.     Let us, then, be up and doing,     With a heart for any fate;     Still achieving, still pursuing,     Learn to labor and to wait.