Or life is seriously funny when it’s about someone else.

I was too grossed out to read about the Maguindanao massacre again, and it’s too unbelievable for me to read about Mayor Andal Ampatuan’s pulling of MILF involvement in his case that I decided to read just the Regions News.

There is a funny (of course, it’s not funny to the victim) police report from Cebu that really got into my conversation with my boss.

An American, Allan Toor, thought he hit the jackpot when he met (online) and got engaged to a Filipina. According to the story, he waited for her to arrive at the Hollywood International Airport in Florida in mid-October, with flowers and chocolates in hand. No one came.

She not only ran off with about P100,000 of his money but gave Toor a false name and a nonexistent address in Cebu.

She also used the photo of Filipina singer-actress Karylle, the daughter of singer Zsa Zsa Padilla, to identify herself to Toor.

Read the full story here.

The dating website? “Cherry Blossom” .

This is why people should be extra cautious when popping (or at least attempting to pop) a stranger’s cherries. No pun intended.

So, thinking ahead for our honeymoon, we’d love to go travelling and take some time to explore the world while we still can. We’ve been discussing this for a while and are thinking of saving up again after the wedding and waiting until we have enough moolah to maybe take a year out. There are so many places you see in magazines, online and on the TV that just make you think ‘I wish i could visit there one day’. I’ve been looking online and have been mapping our destinations on google maps. It’s really handy as you can pin a destination and then save your maps, so you can access it anywhere you want. Very cool!

I think in total so far we have about 30 places around the world tagged, but there are so many more to add! That’s not to say we’ll actually get to visit all of them, but it would be nice to at least try.

I think for me, travelling Asia would be the best experience, and just looking at what’s to see and take in is really exciting! Cherry blossom viewing in April, going to see the Terracotta Warriors, exploring various temples and japanese gardens etc etc.

So, my question is, where in the world, out of all your wildest dreams would you most like to visit, and why?

I could not resist a second posting from the Vaudeville show.

This is Stella, as the peacock.

She is a beautiful and talented young dancer. She knows she’s making art, she does not know she is helping me make art.

I love this photo. Hate the background color automatically generated by the blog template. Must look into that…

I love taking pictures in low light when things are in motion. You never know what you’ll come up with. Most of it is trash, the rest is treasure.

These are dancers from the Phenomenon Hip Hop Dance Troupe performing at the Cherry Blossom Cat & Bird Vaudeville Show. A delightful afternoon!

When I checked a few twitter-pages of our favorite Twilight actors a few days ago I found this on the Alex Meraz site:
What a sad story! He thinks this girl wants to give him roses and that’s just so cute, but then finds out she actually fancies Kellan. Oh what a disappointment! Honestly girl, I got no idea who you are but you meet Alex Meraz, basically ignore him and ask him to pass the flowers on to his co-star? That’s it? Haven’t you realized what a gem Alex himself is? Yes, he is married and a dad, I know. But the fact that you bring roses for your favorite celebrity gives me the impression that you’re at most 10 years old. No way you’re older than 12. So a wife and a child shouldn’t really bother you at this point… Alex knows all that martial arts/capoeira stuff, he’s got awesome abs (almost as great as Taylor’s), he’s an amazing actor (at least I hope so, we’ll see in New Moon…he’d better be!)… So what is it that draws you to Kellan instead? Is it his taste in literature because you heard he has read “The Purpose Driven Life”? No, as I mentioned you’re not even a teenager yet so literature probably doesn’t interest you anyway…

Kellan sporting a cute dog... shirtless

The fact that he runs around shirtless and looks so damn athletic? Oh no, wait, I know! It’s that cute dog running along with him in that picture. Yes, that must be it. The dog is what drew your attention to the pic in the first place and then you discovered Kellan! After that you decided to google him (Yeah, you might be pretty young but everyone knows how to use google these days…). And what did you find out? That he’s taken what seem to be prom pictures with all his female fans. And you’re so looking up to the older girls in their dazzling evening dresses and all the tiara business that you finally chose Kellan as your number one celebrity. You thought to present him with flowers would be a great idea because they fit in so well with all that prom night thing. So you googled the meaning of different kinds of flowers and this was what stuck out to you:

Rosebuds symbolize beauty, youth and a heart innocent of love or:  “You are young and beautiful.”  Red rosebuds mean “pure and lovely” and white rosebuds signify girlhood or “too young to love.” The moss rosebud stands for confessions of love.

So you chose a colorful bouquet of rosebuds to give to Kellan. But then he wasn’t there so you unfortunately had to give your present to his co-star and ask him to pass it along for you. What a shame you didn’t really pay attention to Alex Meraz. He was quite disappointed, really. He liked the rosebuds. A lot… You shouldn’t have ignored him, I wouldn’t. I would do him. Sorry, got carried away… So please, next time bring a few flowers for Alex as well, can’t stand to see him sad… Cause hey, he’s trying to make all the fans happy the whole time so that would just be fair. He even went out to visit all the Twi-hards waiting in line for the New Moon premiere, camping on the street for the last 4 days. He took like a million pictures and signed countless Twilight/New Moon related pieces like books, DVDs and stuff.

Alex Meraz, smoking hot with and without Dolce & Gabbana

Well, I never understood why someone would let an actor sign a book he had no part in writing, but I will make an exception here. Cause these girls have been living out there waiting for the red carpet event for the last couple of days without a comfy bed or any kind of bathroom. So if the only thing they had at hand was their New Moon book because they took it with them to read it again in order to prepare for the movie… In that case I’m not gonna say anything against it this time. Alex, you’re so down with the fangirls! Damn, why wasn’t I there? Oh right, because I promised myself to never camp out on the streets living like a hobo just to see a bunch of dressed-up celebrities. But then again… maybe… if I had known Alex Meraz would come to show me some love (that’s what she said)…Sorry, got carried away again. So that was so nice of you to visit all those girls who spent quite an uncomfortable time just to see you walk down the red carpet in your Dolce & Gabbana suit tonight looking smoking hot. Oh yes, I bet you will… Team Paul! Or rather Team Alex! Team Paulex? Whatever…

a

Off to buy Alex a cherry blossom bouquet (figure out what that means)

Saveyoursoul

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So here in case you don’t believe me… or in case you just want to swoon a bit more over Alex Meraz with me, watch one of the “Alex showing some love” videos:

(images: google and me; video: YouTube)

Giant Buddha at Todaiji Temple, Nara

So far I’ve spent a lot of time talking about what there is to do in Osaka, but this time I want to give a quick overview of places that can be visited as day trips from Osaka. It is, in fact, the perfect city for this, because of its central location and its function as a transportation hub for the Kansai area.

The obvious destination is Kyoto, which is by far the most popular tourist destination in Japan among both domestic and international tourists. Then is nearby Nara (the imperial capital  from 710-794, before it moved to Kyoto), which like Kyoto is home to a number of famous temples and shrines including Todaiji, Koryuji, and Kasuga Taisha. I prefer Nara over Kyoto because it feels more genuine and is not as crowded. Kobe is known as a pleasant, cosmopolitan city with an international feel–I recommend the waterfront Meriken Park, which is a romantic hot spot at night. Then there’s Himeji, with its soaring castle that is more famous and impressive than any other in the country.

Wakaura Tenmangu Shrine, Wakayama City

If you’re looking for something new, why not try Wakayama City? It has a number of gorgeous old temples, some great food, and lovely beaches and hot spring areas. Iga, one of the two great ninja towns of Japan (the other being Koga in Shiga Prefecture), is located in Nara Prefecture and features a ninja museum that you’re sure to get a kick out of. Kumano Kodo, a pilgrimage route that has been celebrated since ancient times, has recently become popular after being named as Japan’s newest UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Yoshino is famous for its autumn colors and spring cherry blossoms, and also has a number of lovely old ryokan and baths. Further east is Ise Shrine (in eastern Mie Prefecture), the most important Shinto shrine in Japan. It is connected to the imperial family, and it has been rebuilt every 20 years on alternating lots using the same architecture and materials since the beginning of Japan as a unified civilization.

Ninja train, Iga

Yes, there are even ninjas inside the ninja train.

Heading north from Osaka, you will find Uji, which is famous for it matcha powdered green tea, and also for Byodoin, a graceful temple that is meant to be an earthly re-creation of the Buddhist paradise (you can find it pictured on the ten yen coin). Fushimi-Inari Shrine is a complex winding its way up a mountainside, featuring paths lined with thousands of bright-orange torii gates that create an impressive tunnel-like effect. The Lake Biwa area is also a treasure trove of great places to see and delicious foods to eat (read about my journey around the lake here).

There are more options available, but the places listed above are all great destinations for day or weekend trips out of the city. With the autumn leaves reaching their colorful peak, now is the perfect time to experience the many faces of the Kansai region.

Special Moments offers a planning package ( Treasured Moment) that includes complimentary use of all of our Decor Inventory. We are featuring the New Cherry Blossom Tree  in this blog post for you to get an idea of what you can do with the Cherry Blossom Tree  for your next event.

Anybody else have any ideas of how this beautiful Tree could be used for an event?

L’occitane Türkiye doğal cilt vücut saç bakımı parfüm şampuan shea butter provence lavender lavanta verbena vanilla eau de toilette cherry blossom immortelle fragrances parfümler saç bakım banyo cilt bakımı boutique nemlendiriciler tonik, tütsü, bitkisel sabunlar, vanilya, mimoza erkek ve kadın bakım ürünleri, ev kokuları loccitane,l’occitane,l occitane,istanbul,Türkiye,fiyat,parfüm,ürünleri,şampuan,shea butter,provence,lavender,lavanta,men,verbena,vanilla eau de toilette,cherry blossom,immortelle,fragrances,parfümler,saç,bakım,banyo,cilt,bakımı,boutique,nemlendiriciler,tonik,şampuan,erkek,tütsü,bitkisel sabunlar,vanilya,mimoza

Irene and Richard Pemberton have moved across the globe to Japan and are living comfortably in a new and exciting world. One night, Richard is found dead in his office, under mysterious conditions. The local detectives believe he has taken his own life, but Irene knows that this couldn’t have been a suicide. Help Irene find the true murderer in Season of Mystery – The Cherry Blossom Murders, a fantastic Hidden Object game.

Gorgeous scenes

Intriguing plot

Find the murderer!

System Requirements:

OS: Windows XP/Vista

CPU: 800 Mhz

RAM: 512 MB

DirectX: 8.1

Hard Drive: 186 MB

It Takes Just A second To Say Thanks,

It Takes Longer To The Work On This.

Season Of Mystery: The Cherry Blossom Murders

Cherry Blossoms

In the words of the ancients, one should make his decisions within the space of seven breaths …. A warrior is a person who does things quickly.

(Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai)

A girl I haven’t seen before stands at the end of the empty corridor, her head to one side. Sunlight streams through the door to shimmer in the dusty hall behind her. The girl’s mouth is promising pink, her hair a lengthy silk scarf of the blackest pitch. Thick, white socks pile up around her calves. A white collar arcs around a neck unused to lips and tongues and teeth and hands. I go straight for the corner.

A hand, out of nowhere, holds me in my place. Twisting round, I see the Deputy there, apparently out of breath. He releases me, inclines his head politely, and offers me a long white envelope. One fluid motion. But his eyes flicker past me, focus on the figure at the end of the corridor, come back apprehensive.

“The principal asked me to see that you received this,” he mutters, and I take the envelope from him: probably another memo about photocopying.

“Thank you,” I say as he walks away, his shoes clipping the floor like a woman’s heels.

When I look back, the girl is no longer there.

*   *   *

On my seventh birthday, my father gave me a book: The Way of the Samurai. Over the years I lost things, disposed of things, gave things away, but this book stayed with me. It offered a guide to living, and communicated its wisdom in the form of ambiguous anecdotes and metaphorical aphorisms. It demanded contemplation. To my father’s mind, The Way of the Samurai promised discipline. “The end is important in all things,” he quoted at me from the doorway of my room as I sat reluctant in front of exam revision. And when I was getting the highest grades in my class, and thought I’d earned the right to a day off, he replaced my bowl of miso soup with the book at the breakfast table, drawing a finger along the line as he read it aloud: “Continue to spur a running horse.” As the years wore on, he came back to this book: often in reference, always in earnest. And I followed. It provided structure; better still, validation. And the older I grew, the more sense it made. A warrior is rarely born thus.

*   *   *

Through windows strung out like lanterns at regular intervals along the corridor, I see students sitting in groups, under trees whose dark, twisted branches will be hidden behind thick flowers any day now.

We wait for it every year: we watch the television forecast, check the newspaper reports to see whether the wave of flowering has reached the Kanto plain. When it comes, we make arrangements at work: who will buy the sake, who will pick up food, who will bring tarpaulin, and who will go to the park early to reserve a desirable spot under the trees. After work, we rush to the parks and drink and laugh, and leave late, knowing we’ll suffer the next morning. And this has never stopped us. We soak it up, loving it all the more because we know it won’t stay long. The samurai spirit urges me to stay in the moment, to cherish the blossom. And the yen opens out. At its core it is hot pink. The slightest touch. It’s what the yen pulls towards.

And in the moment there is: her pouting lips, full and felt, stirring the ache of hunger in the stomach; the point of her chin, like the reflection of Fuji-san in a springtime lake; the narrow neck, dipping slightly at the centre like the cleft further down her spine; the sting of her breasts, like nothing else in the world. And the smooth nose with its tiny nostrils that can flare out unexpectedly, like petals tickled by a balmy breeze.

*   *   *

It was shortly after I met Momo that I noticed the orange, blue and violet dashes in the air. The dragonflies swept through the city, hovering above the heads of stampeding salary men in their suits, as though they didn’t know their place was in the countryside. We used to sit in Yoyogi park and count them. Some called it love. Not me. My longest relationship to date: swept along, but not away. And time proved me right: only one year later, and Momo no longer matters. When confronted with her these days, I’m surprised, then resentful. With Hazuki I’m Hikoboshi. This is how I imagine us: mythical lovers. Brought together in yearning. Separated by the Milky Way.

*   *   *

In the staff room, Shibuya-san watches me pack my bag. I can imagine what he’s thinking, what he’ll be saying later to the principal. He’s too old now to teach, so he sits around, commenting on the role of the teacher and what it’s become. It’s impossible for us to take him seriously and still return to the classroom so shamed. So we bow out our niceties and pretend not to see his frowning. There’s nothing to be done about the age in which we live except to live it, and this is something the old man may never understand, or even care to consider. I look to the students and see them utterly unaffected by the black gaze he casts over them. This is how I understand their world is unburdened in a way that mine isn’t. I envy them their flippancy: this is true. I envy them their determination to remain children. They are laughing and jostling each other all around me as I walk through the playground.

Brightly coloured o-hanami decorations hang from the tops of lampposts and shop signs all the way to the station. A black cat crosses my path and I can’t remember whether or not this is lucky. Because it’s quiet, I find a seat easily enough, in the sunlight. I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the window as we pass a building cast in shadow and then it’s gone as quickly as it came, and the four-beat bar takes over. A headline in the newspaper of the old man sitting opposite tells me that mobile phones are killing all our ghosts. I start to drift away.

*   *   *

Lying in bed last week, straining towards sleep, Momo asked me to tell her a secret. A cold fear laid its hands on me: did she know, or was this just another of her perverse questions? Could I ever tell her? A part of me longs to, to bridge the gap. A small part: too small. Wrap your intentions of needles of pine. It was the day after I’d found the Heaven’s Passport.

I first saw Hazuki’s Heaven’s Passport in an English class. It took on all kinds of strange identities in my mind, so when I was finally able to look at it more closely, the truth seemed a thousand times more perverse than the steamy admissions of lust that had raged in my imagination.

It happened after school one day. Everyone had gone home and the lights had been turned off for the night. And as I passed the lower girls’ lockers, I saw that hers was ajar. In the space of seven breaths. I nudged the door with my finger, and it swung open. Inside, the guarded notebook: a simple catalogue of good deeds, in a haphazard, adolescent hand, punctuated by shiny, gaudy stickers. I turned it over. It didn’t make sense. I read a few of her entries: they were sweet, sometimes amusing. And then I found the motivation.

On the very first page was her wish, which would  come true once she’d performed one hundred good deeds. This was all promised in fine, golden print. What she’d written took me straight home to the three bottles of vintage red wine I’d been saving for a special occasion. How to explain to Momo why the wine has suddenly vanished, when she’s begged me to open a bottle so often? I dread the moment she notices they’re gone. I dread the moment it becomes apparent that I’m not prepared to tell her the truth, and that I don’t have the energy anymore to make it up.

If I cradle The Way of the Samurai loosely in my hands, there are certain points where the pages part of their own accord. One of these contains a passage underlined in red pen: If by setting one’s heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling. Hidden in the leaves lay the promise of my salvation; hidden in the leaves the chance of a blameless path. Of the last sentence, of course, it was always the first clause which interested me. There never was a calling. Teaching used to be, or so I gather from what I’ve heard, but not now. Not for a long time. I’ve searched my colleagues for signs and it’s a strong conviction of mine that we are, all of us, lacking. So it wasn’t the promise of promotion of work that drew me in, but the prospect of a life free from blame. And it was this that brought me back, repeatedly, to the conditional. What did it mean to set one’s heart right? To live as though you were already dead? Years of thought brought me to a clutch of meagre speculations and one, clear conclusion: fear was out of the question. You are samurai: you’re dead before you reach the corner.

*   *   *

On the way to the convenience store, I pass my local launderette and see a plague of cockroaches trapped inside the window. Their large black shells glimmer in the dying light and I stop to count them as they wheel in their frenzy at the glass: twenty four. Making a mental note to buy a roach bomb in the morning, I move on, glancing back a few times to check the vision is real. The image will probably work its way into my sleep and there will be nobody to wake me when it does. Unless Momo is there. In spite of the roach dreams that might ride the tides of sleep tonight, I’m offering prayers to the few gods I now of that she is not. Not tonight. Please.

*   *   *

I look at Momo these days, and I can’t understand why she’s there. It’s a strange thing to be with a person you have no more left to say to. I’d prefer her not to come. I’d prefer to be left alone with my yen. Most disconcerting is the way she moves around so comfortably, the way she sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the screen, a bowl of steaming rice on her lap, or stands at the sink, elbow-deep in soap suds. She looks at home; my apartment has embraced her in a way it never did me, and she’s free to come and go as she pleases. I’m in no position to ask her not to.

Thirty-nine years, and still in no position! Dead before I reach the corner, and by my own hand.

Hazuki lingered after class. I waited for her to leave, my head down, scribbling on the register. She hovered about her desk, her skirt moving on the periphery of my vision. I drew breath, raised my head, to see her staring at me, a thumb baiting the corner of her mouth. Collecting herself, she straightened and bowed slightly.

“Sensei,” she said, politely, “There’s a lot I didn’t understand.” The almond-shaped space between her thighs, down to her knees. The same as her eyes. “Sensei?”

“If you tell me which parts you didn’t understand, I’ll explain again.”

She moved across to me. Her glassy hair broke open into a fat crescent of white light as her face lowered to the floorboards. In seconds, two white knees, impossibly chiselled, only inches away. My hands clasped and clenched on the desk. I thought I knew what her skin would taste like. The urge to put it to the test was almost unbearable. She put her notebook on my desk and I caught a hint of sweat mixed with jasmine. The blood in my temples pulsed. Yes, there are moments when self-control is out of the question. Even for a sensei. A glimmer in her eye. A throbbing in me for the pink confetti raining from the trees.

“So, the future perfect,” I began.

*   *   *

At the 7-11, the queue sits fat around the outer aisle like a blockage in a pipe. I almost leave, but my fridge is empty, so I grab a basket. Minutes later, in the queue the basket cuts off the circulation of blood in my arm, and I put it on the floor, pushing it forward with a foot inch by miserable inch. One lives in the world and reacts to things around him. The question is where one places his feet. I look down.

I’m staring inanely at the contents of my basket, wondering what it says about me, when my fingers find the memo in my pocket. We need to have some sort of meeting, I think to myself: I have plenty to say about the restrictions on photocopies. The queue shifts forward and I put the basket on the counter, busy myself with the memo in my hand while the kid packs my shopping. My eyes start to speed read. Stop. Go back. I have that feeling again, like I’m falling and it’s taking me years to hit the ground. It’s not a memo.

*   *   *

My heart was already busy with its swelling by the time autumn descended red, gold and yellow upon the city. I fell over the wooden desks, all pointed my way in the closed-off classroom. A long descent. A girl thirteen years old.

Is it true that people grow older at a faster rate these days? Certainly I feel now as I expected to feel in my seventies. So if I’m older in feeling than in years, couldn’t a case be made for her?

And maybe this is something like the secret Momo suspected I’d have. But then probably nothing so vulgar, or so recent, entered her imagination. And now there’s the delicate matter of the letter to hide from her, detailing the complaints lodged against me, and the inquiry that will follow.

*   *   *

Home, I slip my key into the lock and hold still, listening. Trying to sense whether Momo’s on the other side of the door. Click, push, silence. No television. No lights. I dump my shoes and coat at the entrance, my briefcase on the kitchen floor. Put my shopping into the fridge, which hums its approval. Spaghetti Bolognese goes into the microwave. High. Sixty seconds. I’m cast back, suddenly, to a spring afternoon thirty years old. My father towers above me. One of his fingers is raised, and I hear the samurai code on his lips: “There is something to be learned from a rainstorm, Yuudai-chan: you must be resolved to get wet from the start!”

Twiddling disposable chopsticks, I move into the main living area, where the futon is taking up most of the floor space, the duvet humped in segments across it like a huge, cotton maggot. I draw back the curtain and go out onto the balcony, where the moon is slung low, hammocked between the Soseki Tower and the Katanga Building. In a murky blue. No stars. Pylons pull thick, black cables taut across my view, dividing the city into three unequal parts. I take the letter out to read it again. I will not be expected at the school tomorrow. They’ll contact me in a few days. The more I stare at the words, the less sense they make and in a matter of seconds they’ve become hieroglyphs. Ping. Inside, I place the letter carefully at the back of a drawer, build up sandbags of socks towards the front, and push it closed quietly. I ought to shred it. Momo hasn’t yet wormed her way into all of my drawers, but I’m always on the alert. How to ask her to leave without risking a scene? How to take it all back quietly?

*   *   *

I worried for Hazuki’s education. I watched that she ate well in the cafeteria, that she was happy, that none of her classmates were nasty to her. After, when she bled, I wiped her myself.

*   *   *

I remember the sword shop my father took me to once, when I was young; the samurai sword with the silhouette of mountains and blossom scored along its edge, where the steel had been folded. The owner leant down to me and said: “To see if a thing is Japanese, boy, look for the careful arc, the controlled flourish.” I call back the sword itself, in its simple glass case. You should never breathe upon, or even speak close to a samurai sword: the blade is so sensitive, it can rust. I knew this at the age of seven. You should never hold a cherry blossom in a wet hand, or with too tight a grip. And this I knew instinctively. I close my eyes and find the girl. She glows soft and pure under hard white light, ready to open. A samurai sword: worth more when they’ve not killed. But the shedding of blood is something else: a part of the process. Part of the cycle.

And how to explain all this to a man who has pictures of dead Emperors on his desk, in place of his wife and children?

© Lenya Samanis

[Heavily doctored chapter from a novel: shortlisted for the New Writing Ventures Award for Fiction, September 2006.]

” The Sumida River (隅田川, Sumida-gawa) is a river which flows through Tokyo, Japan. It branches from the Arakawa River at Iwabuchi and flows into Tokyo Bay. Its tributaries include the Kanda and Shakujii rivers. What is now known as the “Sumida River” was previously the path of the Arakawa, however towards the end of the Meiji era work was carried out to divert the main flow of the Arakawa to prevent flooding. It passes through Kita, Adachi, Arakawa, Sumida, Taito, Koto and Chuo” (Wikipedia).

When some friends of mine and I first visited Tokyo in 2003,  I’ve tried to convince them to visit the Sumida River as it’s one of the land marks in Tokyo, they were partially convinced about it. Then, the next day, we’ve arrived in Asakusa train station which is just next to Sumida River, I didn’t know how far it’s located away from the train station, so once we went out the station we kept walking ‘n’ walking for ages! Nothing appeared on the horizon yet, as I’ve mentioned earlier, they were just partially convinced about visiting it, so suddenly we’ve they’ve decided to forget about it and go back to whatever is left to visit/see in Tokyo. FOUR years later, in 2007, a friend of mine and I, have made it at the Sumida River at the right time and the right place, the station this time was just a couple of minutes away from the river, and the timing was just perfect for it, it was late March, you know what I mean! Cherry blossom, Sakura trees, were covering the streets of Sumida. It was crowded with public enjoying the weather, the scenery and the river at that delightful moment. What’s so special about Sumida River in addition to the Sakura trees, the bridges, it has many bridges passing over it and some are dedicated for trains, it’s wide and relaxing for sight. I remember how people there were so happy and joyful! Sumia River now means a beautiful moment for me!

HB_cherry01, originally uploaded by diiiiiii!!!! burst.

One of my favourite shots for Di Erbe! I wuv my job because I get to do things like this.

Sadly the cherry blossoms are almost over, and with rain and wind forecast for today, they will soon be gone.  So fleeting, but wonderful while they last and worthy of a few more shots before they vanish for another year…….

I have been a very bad blogger for the last couple of weeks……..I have not been totally idle,  just not a lot of stitching happening here…..but things are about to change and I hope to have a few things to show before much longer!

First of all, apologies for this late upload and for ‘disappearing’ for a while. Been back since last week, a little jet-lagged and my mum has taken ill. But she’s alright now (Praise to the Lord! And thanks for all your prayers! I feel very blessed.), feisty as ever. I’m finding some time amidst shuttling between home and hospital to get pling ready. I’m excited about my new pieces, especially after my trip and the tons of inspiration I got from it.

First up, trees. I continued to be inspired by them. Gardens as well. I’ve seen the most beautiful garden in my life. I think our summery island has none to compare. But still, we have plenty of trees. Sharing 2 of my pictures with you (I had a real hard time picking them out of my thousands of pictures)…

I can’t agree with Wilson Flagg more when he said that all that is cheerful and delightful in our memories will always be associated with trees or against the background of trees. Sharing another quotation that I like. I hope you will find the quote and these pieces as delightful as I did creating them.

The trees are God’s great alphabet:
With them He writes in shining green
Across the world His thoughts serene.
~ Leonora Speyer

*SOLD OUT*

No setting the scene, no drawing the curtain,
no fastidious laying of folded clothes on the hotel bureau —
Checkov says to tear away the notebook’s first pages
to where the story really begins.   We all know about
seduction’s quaint habits, the tender charred flesh,
the fermeted grape, the elevator and room keys,
the pretty underclothes meant to be seen and discarded,
the intricate machinations of hand and mouth, lips
and fingers and tongue, give and take, push and pull.
This story begins, then, with the crashing and receding
of waves, the clenching and -un, a feeling like flying
and falling all at once, the melting away, the gasp and
exhale, the last full deep strokes, then sinking into
each other, as close as two bodies in one skin, and finally
relaxing, unfolding, sliding apart, flower and hummingbird
as one who become two once more, your face damp,
pressed in the hollow above my collarbone, my cheek
brushed by your mussed hair, my just-fledged bird and eggs
still close against your tangly nest, my hands loosening
their urgent grip upon your southern hemispheres,
my eyes closing, suddenly sleepy.    A shower and
a late night snack is what we need, I hear from the foggy
margins of my pleasure, and so together we rise and soap
and rinse, and I come to you here in front of the mirror,
your hair in a towel, your body warm and pink and
luxuriant in the tingly glow of sex and shower and my
appraising gaze into your eyes in reflection, my chin
resting on your shoulder from behind, my arm reaching
across your chest covering your rose-petal nipples that stir
slightly to my touch, and then my other hand reaches
for your dewy bush, and so we begin again.

We are keeping a lot of interesting trends and dresses for the 2010 issue of our bridal pub Wedding Dresses with a peek in the next Engagement 101. However here is a tease…

Pockets for brides and maids at Watters

Cherry Blossom theme for Claire Pettibone at Buddhakan

Couture details for Edgardo Bonilla

Yo no naka ni
Taete sakura no
nakariseba
haru no kokoro wa
Nodoke karamashi

If there were no
cherry blossoms
in this world
How much more tranquil
our hearts would be in spring.

(ARIWARA NO NARIHIRA, Kokinshuu)

I am not a morning person- waking up to an alarm clock would be in my top-5 hate list; but I love to be greeted by the kitten when I get out of the bedroom. I love the way he would do those ‘love meows’, purrs, kneads and nibbles on my chin and ears. He’ll smell me- again and again…. and in the process he’ll tell me that he loves me, that I am his ‘human’.

I don’t like waking up in the mornings, but the kitten makes up for it on many mornings. It counts for more than I can explain.

Cherry blossom time, originally uploaded by Xerones.

My mornings are usually blurred, that is when I have music in my ears and sleep in my eyes; and chances are that I did not notice you when you walked past me in the station. It takes me months to notice a billboard that’s been there in the tram stop and I cannot get myself to be excited about anything at all- not even a promise of free coffee at Krispy Cremes. .

I am happy to see those pigeons though- one of the things I love in the mornings is wading through those pigeons all over the streets near my work. I love the way they don’t notice me, the way they are unafraid of me.

Mornings are peaceful- even when my head is so devoid of thoughts, even when I had to tear myself from my much-loved morning sleep. Because it’s the time the kitten pours his love on me and the symbol of peace shares my pavement.

It’s also the time of the day when the cherry blossoms look its best.

Photographed by Shannon K

Done by Iggy Vans at Idle Hand in San Francisco. Great artist, great shop. I’m really happy with how this came out and can’t wait to get the color.

– License

I have been watching a single bunch of blossom on one of my ornamental cherry trees as it has developed over the past couple of weeks as the pink buds grew and the leaves unfurled – this is my version of time lapse photography.

The whole tree is about to be covered with this gorgeous white fluff!