Showing posts with label locura. Show all posts
Showing posts with label locura. Show all posts

Wednesday, 16 December 2015

Airport Crowds


I find it always amazing to see how people are moving. Walking down the street, between chairs in a cafe, going to sit down standing up. To also notice how inefficiently we move and how we have  grown accustomed to these habits. As a child we are flexible and have little strength i n our bodies. From this time we are formed by a series of habits, be it a toy we liked to play with, riding a bike, playing with a ball, or biting the soft toy bunny rabbit ear. no i didn't do that but i was madly in love with a tricycle that my grandfather gave me. But the point is we learn these habits from an early age, but they aren't necessarily good for the way our body was designed to move.
its interesting to see what we percieve as normal movement. i am sitting in a cafe having a coffee in schiphol, Amsterdam airport. Before i sat down i saw a gorup of people who were wearing red tracksuits and assumed they were a sports time. Then i Saw that they had Russia on their uniforms. This confirms in your mind that they must be athletes.
Then the whole group got up to go to their flight. Everyone didn't look twice at this group who as a group became normal. They were hugely disabled in movement, 8 or so had a definite limp and chronic stiffness in their body, others had crutches, 2 were in a wheel chair. But they out numbered those who don't think twice about a none limp impaired movement. So they became normal. Groups have an amazing power on the individual. Sometimes hugely positive giving more confidence, a feeling of beloging amongst other things. Sometimes not. In this case it was beautiful to see.
i find it always really amazing to see how people are moving

Forever friend cutest cat i ever knew


Sometimes I think its so rare to truly love and be loved by another person. somehow all the complexities of life interfere with the simple act of loving someone or something. we get too caught up in what it means if we love someone, what we want need or fear from loving and how should be go about doing this in the right way. also in the fantasizing about how it should be if we really fall in love. i am very slowly learning there isn't a right way, but getting my brain to take this on in a practical way is totally different to understanding it intellectually.

but when it comes to animals we humans (especially the English it seems), have a huge affinity for love with no complications. so i right of the animal that showed me unquestioning love. she had many roles in my life when i was growing up sister, mother, friend, tiger, little monster and Rose the cat that loves me. it may sound strange but i think she shaped the way i relate to people both in physical contact and in the way i love someone.

The reason i write about love and this Rose is that she passed away on the 20th June 2008. she lived to the age of nearly 20, accompanying me through life from when i was 4 years old. we grew together, loved together, she had fun with tom cats and we looked after her babies, together.

we used to play this game where she would run off into the house and scatter up to the top of one of the doors, i would chase after her and have to shake each door in turn to make sure she wasn't there. when she was she would jump down and run to the next. in the beginning it was usually because i was trying to catch and put her outside for a while, but eventually it became a game we both enjoyed.

When she was about 8 months old she started to have many kittens. The first ones died as she wasn't really aware of how to look after them. I learned so much about life and death and suffering from these kittens. but also about the joys of the world. In the beginning we had to feed the kittens with cows milk through little pipets from medicine bottles. They died anyway but it was the trying that mattered, and of course the fact that Rose slowly got the idea that it wasn't enough to get frisky with Tom cats but if she wanted the kittens to live she would have to feed them. she became a very good mother. we ended up keeping 5 of her babies at various times (Bryer, Merlin, Simba, jasper better known as 'little boy' and daisy). as she got older some of the kittens were being born malformed. i was helping her with one litter when I was about 12 years old. there was one baby born with no skin and some of its limbs were missing, but amazingly it lived. i steeled myself, took the kitten outside where there was a big flat rock and I crushed it with another. I was shaking so badly afterwards but it was the right thing to do. it was in such pain and was making these horrible noises. i had to help it. this was the best i could do. she had approximately 70 kittens over all and she filled many peoples lives with the love that only animals can give to humans. in some ways later on she was also a typical Italian big mama, with her boys who sorted her territory in Penzance and then she was retired to Devon where she was loved a lot by my father or Da.

It was only in her last years that i was away from her a lot (and my father or Da loved her and was loved in return). i have many tears, but know she had a good life. its difficult to think that she died on the day that i really let go of living in the UK. i think somehow she knew this was the time within which everything was changing. She was and will always be deep in my heart, my little tiger, My Rose.

'Storm Walker' poem written in Buenos aires Argentina


A little of Buenos Aires

She walks the storm
Enclosed by skies fallen, no! falling tears around
Greetings from a friend
Reaching through skin to bone

Now she may cry
For the storm will cover her tears
As long as she smiles
No passing stranger will see her wants and fears.

I walk stricken streets
Through the deluge of storm
Here I can cry
As my tears will go disguised
As long as I smile
No one will know the sadness that fills me
But in reality one has only to look into my eyes to see what is truly within.

But I am changed by storm as it enters into me
I am laughing as I walk these soaked streets
While others run and hide, and watching me precariously
My eyes twinkle reflecting humour of the lightning lit sky

Who is this stranger who carries this drenched laughter
Like a child she stamps her feet
knowing well that each step means more water
I smile back at her, for she has touched me to my core
I see sadness in her eyes, and spirit in her heart
This beautiful entity, walking freely
taken by tempest, to some remote land

she is storm walker…but is surely of this land………………..


Cliched Tango - (Argentine tango, romance

Published in Doble Ocho Magazine

Imagine how is it to question if love exists. Grab hold of a feeling that no one could love you, why should they? What is there that is special about you? You are not beautiful. He never says so. He points out things that make you shy and unconfident. People on the street take more care and time to notice you, than your own lover. You do everything wrong, like putting the wrong seasoning in a meal you are lovingly making or use too much washing liquid for the dishes. Little things you never thought about before suddenly become something to avoid because of criticism.

YOU are too young and inexperienced to know that love can be something more. Not this strange in between world where you slowly close off from yourself and the person this lover was first attracted to. You become a nothing, he leaves you and then you have to piece yourself together again.

All this might have been avoided if he could simply say he was insecure about our age difference. Which was big, almost 20 years. That he found it difficult when I danced with other men closely. I own that I had too few experiences of relationships at 18 to hold my own ground.

One ‘tango romance’, my first, left me with these feelings. It took me 3 years later to put this newfound scepticism to rest. I found a love in a completely unexpected place. I had heard all these stories about the flirtyness of Argentine men, but I found one that defies the clichés. Or maybe it’s more apt to say he found me. We danced one night about 4 tandas, anyone going to Buenos Aires will know what that is supposed to mean. But we had only just met; we talked in our broken English and Spanish all night. Sharing experiences of everything from teaching tango to past loves. We sat under a moonlit sky, with waves of warmth surrounding us from the humid and sticky day (many clichés) that had been. He kissed me and then asked if it was ok. We kissed again (me smiling).

The next night we ended up sitting on my doorstep after a milonga, talking in the new day. Watching the sun rise and become engulfed in buckets of rain that drenched everything in seconds. Soaked to the skin we went up stairs to get dry. Later we sat naked and watched a meteor shower, hundreds of shooting stars. You are supposed to make a wish if you see a shooting star; I wished the night would continue forever in the calm, loving warmth of this beautiful man. The weeks I was with him shot by, I was so ill one night that I expected him to leave. I thought it was just fun us being together. But he covered me with a blanket and lit candles all round the bed. We talked for hours asking each other’s secrets. He told me he loved me. I was deeply surprised. He told me I was beautiful but timid and shy. I told him of my past stories and he understood. He told me of his and I understood. He was older than my first ‘tango romance’, but so completely different. Like dark skin and white. But I had to leave, return to my real world where love doesn’t exist.

We said goodbye, but we wrote everyday for months until I finished it. It was too much to feel so deeply for someone who wasn’t there. I transferred all this to another man 9 days later, only knowing this in hindsight. That story finished and I was going back to Argentina again. The first night I was there this beautiful man opened his arms and embraced me. We found another doorstep in some barrio, and caught up on the stories of the last year. He told me he had fallen into a relationship to get over me, but he was here now and nothing had changed. He loved me. How could anyone care so much about me that he would still love me after all this time? It might sound like ego, but I honestly didn’t believe until after this moment, that someone could feel this way about me. And more importantly that I feel the same way about him in return. I realised love isn’t about the clichés but how it feels to be present and loving with someone. There is often a good cliché that defines love but goes nowhere close to describing the rawness of feeling both wonderful and terrified in any one moment.

Friday, 11 December 2015

First post in Chic Loca

First post in Chic Loca,

I have heard for years that blogging is the next big thing even now after the initial boom of bloggers. I hope to share my ideas and creativity while finding an outlet for for some of the lovely crazy outfits and tips for making the most of what we have. Everyone has beauty and its well worth celebrating.

Why the name Chic Loca? i  always loved the phrase chica loca, Chic is a play on chica (girl). For those of you who don't speak any spanish, Loca is an endearing name you can say to a girl/woman. It mean something along the lines of crazy girl. Crazy in the loveliest sense of the word. I have a lot of lovely crazy and its so great to bring something of this in the shape of creative writing, projects, ideas about life and anything else that pops up along the way. And the meaning of chic? well most people will have a sense of this one. For me its something of a feeling and a few words that would begin to describe it are a fashion elegance and style often understated. Together Chic loca is a wonderful combination of individuality with a flair of sophistication. 

With our clothing store Cielita Loca up and running we are getting a lot of questions about how to combine items of clothing for maximum effect.  The clothes we choose to wear are a powerful part of our image. We can either passively hide from this fact or take control, show others what we want to share as well as the wonderful parts of our nature that can't help but shine through. Not so sure then see below for some ideas about the next step. Part of the process is to not be scared of making mistakes, i have made so many on the way to finding out what styles work for me and what doesn't. Maybe i share some of these mess up soon, i am not a guru but one of the girls and like share what i experience. Lets see where this journey takes us.

Greets Isolde