marți, 14 iulie 2009

mandrie de viitoare mama

Copilasul nostru s-a intors cu capul in jos, are 1 kilogram si 250g la 29 de saptamani si statea pudic sa-l pozeze doamna doctor. La auzul acestor vesti minunate, mi-a crescut inima in piept si mi s-au umezit ochii, ca si cum bebe ar fi facut nu stiu ce nazdravanie. Intampin fiecare zi cu nerabdarea omului care experimenteaza un miracol, care stie cat este de norocos pentru tot ceea ce se intampla in viata lui si care nu vrea sa piarda nici o clipa din imensa bucurie de a trai.

Peste zi mi se umple sufletul de bucurie la gandul ca in curand il voi strange in brate, il voi mangaia si-l voi privi cum doarme. Mi-l inchipui cum doarme linistit, in timp ce eu nu ma mai satur privindu-l.

Am zile cand nu mai am rabdare, as vrea sa-l vad, sa-l cunosc, sa-l tin in brate si sa-l alint.

duminică, 12 iulie 2009

Acasa e pace

E duminica, e liniste, afara ploua marunt in luna lui cuptor de parca ar fi octombrie. Acasa la ai mei e pace si bine si atat. Nu-mi doresc sa fac nimic mai mult decat ceea ce fac: stau, privesc ploaia, cerul plumburiu, citesc cartea Reginei Maria despre viata ei si-mi simt copilul vioi controbaind pe sub coastele mele, de parca incearca sa-si testeze limitele camarutei.

Asta e concediul meu in aceasta vara si daca as fi intrebata ce altceva as vrea sa fac, as sti sigur ce sa raspund: nimic mai mult din ceea ce fac - citesc, scriu, privesc ploaia si soarele, si cerul si oamenii care trec pe strada.

De obicei ma macina graba, panica aceea ca trec orele si nu am facut nimic, ca trec zilele si anii si se duce viata mea, iar eu parca nici nu ma urnesc. Dar in aceste cateva zile, parca am reusit sa opresc timpul, sa ma suspend undeva intre doua clipe si sa savurez pe indelete placerea de a nu face mare lucru decat de a-ti odihni creierul si sufletul pentru ziua, saptamana, luna ce vine.

Mai am cateva zile si va trebuie sa ma intorc in vartejul vietii londoneze, cu ore lungi la birou, alergat spre casa, pregatiri pentur venirea lui bebe, drumuri pe la consiliu si alte bazaconii. Dar acum e liniste, camera copilariei mele e la fel de primitoare ca intotdeauna, cartile imi zambesc de pe rafturile bibliotecii, iar eu sunt fericita in linistea din jur.

luni, 6 iulie 2009

Melancholy

She got out of bed, as always at 4.30 am. In the dark, she slowly groped about her work dress mended with colourful patches. With shaky hands she tied her apron around the waist. She had to throw it away soon. It looked as ragged as her dress and the thought of her daughter’s disapproving eyes made her giggle. After 20 minutes she was finally ready to get out of the house, but not before picking up her dark brown walking stick propped up against the wall.

She closed the door behind her and tried to straighten her stooping back while groaning with pain. At 84, her dangerously curved figure made her chin almost touch her chest. But despite her fragile frame and severe bone problems, she was still taking care of a whole farmstead.

There was no time for nonsense when she had to milk the cows, release the hens from the coop, feed the dogs and prepare breakfast. She’d hoped her good-for-nothing elder son would give her a hand, but he was still sleeping off the gallons of alcohol he had drunk the night before with that damn neighbour across the street.

The old woman picked up the bucket from the kitchen table and started towards the stables, her tiny frame barely visible in the wide, arid yard. She stopped to rest and looked into the distance at the reddish morning sky. The sun was rising from behind the quiet cemetery hill. Her house was situated on a slope and the entire village was unfolding in front of her eyes. She took a deep breath and felt the strong smell of linden flowers and dew fill her lungs.

Few things had changed in the past 84 years in this archaic God-forsaken place. Only the crosses in the cemetery multiplied while people got older and died. Otherwise, things went on unchanged. She was still cooking on a stove than ran on wood, the roads were still made of dust and river rocks, and the farmers were still working the land with horses and oxen.

In time the village had gotten smaller and smaller. Empty houses collapsed until no more than 15 families were left. Another 10 years and there would be nobody around, she thought to herself with sadness. This 500 year-old village would become a wild place again, with forests and vegetation covering the high hills and the decrepit buildings.

Tenderness and sadness filled her heart at the sight of her blue house with red pelargonium flowers in the windows. When she was gone, nobody would take care of her household. She thought of Peter, her husband, who had died of a brain tumour more than 43 years before. Her small, lively blue eyes welled with tears. She still missed him and lately she wished more and more she was up there on the hill, by his side.