Week nine. Day one.

Even with an ongoing back muscle strain she has been nursing since November, precisely the night before her birthday, she hasn’t stopped her walking exercises.
She had started using the app last winter but put aside after a while.
No particular reason. She just did.
Following her recovery time after surgery, it all begun with small steps she was taking everyday on late mornings and mid afternoon to regain strength, straightening her back, not feel scared of sudden movements her body wasn’t yet ready to do it again. Most of the time her friend was by her side, ready to give that helpful hand whenever necessary. Each day was always an achievement once the road uphill began. Even lacing up her shoes made her feel a winner.
She frankly can’t remember when did exactly she reset the app and started walking for real again.
She does remember thou being able to walk in more determined pace following the rhythm of the music she would be listening to. It was Queen, of course. “Crazy little thing called love”.
She changed routes. Choosing a road she had been rather uneasy to walk on knowing cars there do drive up as if the are on Formula 1 races.
But that road is open, greener to her sight and lungs. And steep as well.

There has been cold, some lazy days, some heavy rain ones but she even did a couple of times under the rain and it was a superb feeling to be there.
Yesterday morning, a tad reluctant or just with too much in her mind, the sun was a bit covered behind clouds she was getting changed out of her pjs into exercise clothes. Temperature was a bit low but that wouldn’t surely be a reason to stop her going.
Out of the door, opening her day screen to read:
“week nine, day one”.
She stopped for a second staring at it almost perplexed but with pride beaming on her smile.

How far did she come since those days in hospital!

“Let’s warm up for five minutes” the app lady said.

And then Michelle Obama continued narrating how their lives were settling in at the White House and looking back on how proud of their team work as a couple for the last 20 years she was.

Suddenly all changed.

When you are forced to stop no matter how much resilience you put into it, believe it, it is in vain.

At first when the doctor told her about the surgery she was going to face it she thought “sure it is rather common these days so why worry”.

It turns out it was a lot more complicated than they all expected.

Her late summer was turned upside down. In a matter of 45 days she was in surgery room. Twice. Followed by a day and a half in intensive care. A week in hospital.

She is seating by the fire place. It’s winter. Sipping on a glass of locally produced red wine and some music is playing in the background.

Some flashbacks do come to her mind every now and then. She has spoken a lot about it with the very few selected people she chose to have by her side during such a fragile moment. Moment that up until then, the closest experiences she had with hospitals was emergency room visits with her estranged mother along the years. Never did she imagine to face, suddenly, such brutal turn out of events.

Yet, all seems to be so far from her recent memory. As if it took place a “century ago”. Almost nothing from those 72 hours either.

She recalls the afterwards and going back home.
Recovery time.
She rested. A lot.
Watched series. “The Crown”. Loved it. “Maniac”. Loved even more. A bit of “Will & Grace”.
Weather wasn’t so hot anymore but sunny enough to enjoy, what was a must do exercise, small strolls outside after 10 or so days back home.

Incredible how much we take for granted absolutely everything we do everyday without even thinking.
Walk step by step, try have your back straight, go up and down the stairs, wash yourself in the shower, or just as little as stand up without feeling pain.

She didn’t look at her scars until all stitches and bandages were removed.
At first it was overwhelming. But nothing that a good massage with almond oil therapy every morning and night before bed time couldn’t help them become acquainted. It took a few weeks.
They became friends.
Today she is proud of her scars. They have become part of her body. It is still a healing process but they look splendid.
Both scars and herself.
Winter is looking promising and so is Spring.

But, there is always a but…

Phonecall

Her morning had started weirdly. Weather was dull, dump but it wasn’t raining.
Alarm had gone off and snoozed for the past 2 hours. Yeap, she can procrastinate even with her own sleep sometimes.
Yes, I said her morning wasn’t taking off.
Under the warmth of her duvet all was much more inviting.
She had quite a lot of work to do but then again those are the downsides of being a freelancer and a bit of a procrastinator. She was managing her time pretty bad these days.
Alright. Alright.
She stood up, sitting in bed for a moment, stretching arms.
I need a cup of coffee.
She went to the kitchen.
She realised she forgot to clean the moka from yesterday.
See what I mean?
But don’t get the impression of a messy lady. She is not.
While waiting for coffee to brew, her thoughts were blending with the smell that was brightening her mind and the light inside her kitchen.
Red mug and black coffee.
She sits in front of her Mac.
Closed.

Her phone rings.
Not yet she says out loud.
Taking a sip of her coffee she answers without taking much notice of caller’s id.

Broken yet strong

Friday morning.
Alberto and Babi had slept over last night.
Curtains were half opened allowing the morning light to come in as their alarm clock.
It was 6:45am.
Laura enjoyed those morning moments. Alberto had giving a moka for two as a present to Laura’s kitchen. The ritual of filling it with coffee, the warm water to avoid burning the powder while on stove before brewing and the smell. Seating by the window petting Lupetto the cat with one hand and Babi with the other, she was glazing outside, breathing peacefully and waiting for coffee to be ready.
She could see her screen phone lightining up.
Weird she thought.
She stood up gently shushing Babi who clearly thought they were getting ready to go out.
She caressed Alberto’s face while taking her phone from her bedside table. He smiled on his sleep.
She went back to the kitchen to pour herself some coffee, placing her phone on the counter.
Black no sugar and today she fancied on a small cup. Just like Alberto did.
Walking back with coffee towards the window and oops realising she left the phone back on the counter. She hesitated for a few minutes, seat down and sipped her coffee. Dazing for a few moments.
But now it was time to wake up Alberto.
She stood up streching a bit here and there while walking towards the kitchen.
She was pouring coffee and reached for her phone to check the time.
She froze.
She placed the moka and unlocked her phone.
Tears coming down her cheeks.
Impossible.
Damm you pop up news, she tought!
She couldn’t find her words out loud to speak.
She stood there incredulous, reading and rereading and tears kept on coming.
For what it seemed forever, suddenly she heard Alberto’s sleepy voice really distant, calling out her name.
All Laura could say was “Bourdain is dead”.
Alberto seat straight in bed rubbing his eyes and saying “What?! That’s impossible.”
Laura started sobbing inconsolable when Alberto came close hugging her.
They stood there. Still.

Another passion they share deeply is the admiration for Anthony Bourdain’s work and talent.

Fireplace

Her room was not hers for a while. The fireplace room had become her room. Her house has been going through a major roof refurbishment in the past few weeks. Probably a few more to come.

One of those old Etruscan houses in the middle of the countryside that no doubt sometimes have some retouch needed.

Last night, quite late, all kitties and dog were fast asleep around their own chosen space. All you could hear was the heavy rain falling against walls, windows and a protected roof. Fire was almost out and she couldn’t be bothered to put more wood in. Even though there isn’t anything more soothing than to fall asleep in front of a fireplace.

Lights off, she went inside her duvet and laid her body facing the fireplace. Some heat was still coming from it. She slowly closed her eyes, not even considering listening to her audiobook. Silence was superb.

Suddenly she felt a warmer sensation and brightness on her face.

Opening her eyes to that timid yet so adamant flame was like listening to a lullaby.

A perfect goodnight.

That doodle title

That afternoon the entire team had lunch together. They were discussing how to strike the perfect pitch for the campaign the agency had taken on.
In recent delicate times with the whole #metoo, bad presidents, gender equality battle, all so heated up on each and every angle of news, the team was having some great difficulty in getting a draft down without offending anyone.
Last week when the director called a metting/ breafing to introduce the new campaign everyone took their notes down, with some certain uncomfort in the air, and went back to their desks.
The following days all you could hear in the kitchen, while having their coffees, was the inkling feeling everyone was having as to why had the director accepted to take that client on.
The first ones not wanting to be offended were themselves let alone offend the public.
Back from that lunch they had all agreed that it was simply impossible to be creative this time.
The team put a note on their Doodle briefings to meet back with their director.
The title said “Orange is not the new black”.

Daily Prompt: Inkling

Chico

It turned up one evening at the neighbor’s garden. You could see the dogs going crazy trying to find out what noise was that about.
In the morning she had a meeting with a potential new client. All set and done. Deal.
So it seems for the little creature wandering around the streets of the village going back and forth the neighbors and her house.
Yes, she gave a bowl of milk.
Yes, it came running around the garden.
Yes, it was slowly but surely conquering its space around, within te other 5 residents of the house.
His name is Chico.
And yes, he chose to stay.

a few days after his arrival

He chose to stay

And we love him

Sync

He has two black cats.
Every morning he wakes up to their purrs, sometimes face paws, inevitably with the odd scratch here and there, or simply meows synphonies if he decides to sleep in.
He is freelancer but most of the time enjoys working out and about, coffee houses, library, specially the one in Bryant Park. Almost like going back in time when entering the building kind of experience.
He loves his apartment. Been there for almost six years after moving out from his Uni sharing life time. He got a couple of good contracts straight out of school that would allow independent life.
When choosing his apartment one important aspect was kitchen space. He always wanted an open space area where he could have both cooking and living area. A cousy couch, his music and a big window if possible.
At the time the area was not the greatest but since then it only got trendier and cooler. Let’s say he’s very much enjoying the idea of having Bourdain’s latest project as neighbor in the near future.
He doesn’t see himself in any of those many labels like uber cool, hipster or similar adjectives he can’t even remember. Yes he has vinils, some furniture that he lovingly accepted from his grandma’s house as a gift for the new place at the time.
A round wood table by the long length window where he seats with his black coffee and the cats to appreciate the view.
Joe and Mirtle have their favorite spot by the chairs as well. Or on the arm and back of the couch when in the evening after enjoying a bite, with friends or alone, they all crash those comfy cushions.
The warm lighting inside the rooms, the outside jungle that sometimes he loves sometimes he hates, thoughts, ideas, influences from music or a not so irrelevant episode from one of those many series one can accumulate watching on Netflix, Hulu.
It’s morning. It’s freezing outside. Completely white. It has snowed all night. Rubbing his eyes, streching arms, touching his messy hair, walk into the kitchen, the small light over the oven top was left on. Cats slowly starts curling their tails around his legs.
The routine is just perfect and synched.
The smell of coffee takes over the air, he is almost ready to go. Cup in hand, a sip, bag around his neck, kitty cuddles on the kitchen counter and off he goes.
Another sip. Smilling.
And content.

The New Yorker cover by Sempé (1982)