CHINESE WISDOM AND NEW YEAR OF THE GOAT – project “52”

We greeted yesterday the Chinese New Year.  Happy Chinese New Year my dear friends that celebrate!  I wish you and all those you love best of luck, good health and fortune for the forthcoming year of the Goat!

I would love to share few of my favourite Chinese proverbs that often I draw wisdom from for my own strength and enlightenment:

Patience is power; with time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes silk.

When luck visits you, everyone will know where you live.

Be not afraid of growing slowly; be afraid only of standing still.

To attract good fortune, spend a new coin on an old friend, share an old pleasure with a new friend, and lift up the heart of a true friend by writing his name on the wings of a dragon.

If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap.  If you want happiness for a day, go fishing.  If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune.  If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.

Kindness is the best quality of the soul.

Frugality is the mother of prosperity.

Don't curse the darkness - light a candle.

The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago.  The second best time is now.

If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow.

Health and prosperity,

Sophia

© 2015 - sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved

MATCHMAKING, FISH AND WINE or EVERY DAY IS A VALENTINE'S DAY

“Cooking fish tonight?” he greeted, happy to see again her sunlit smile and wished he can dive in her beaming blue eyes.

“Yes, lucky I found a fresh rainbow trout.  It would be wonderful for dinner.  If I get home on time, I’ll bake a bread to go with it”, she replied as she sat in his cab’s passenger sit.

“Mmm, fresh fish and home-made bread!” he started to day dream over the meal she was planning.  “Fried?”

“No, I’ll bake it in paper”

“You sound as a nice cook.  I guess the only thing missing is a good wine”, he said as he approached her address and slowly stopped the car in front of her home.

“Wine is a great match for a fresh fish, but haven’t met many people that know how to marry fish with the right wine”, she returned as she paid her fair and got off the cab.  “Always nice to see you!” she greeted him goodbye.  He kept on looking in her direction long after she disappeared behind the door of her home.

…

It was almost time to cut the bread and she brought on the table the steaming baking dish with the fish still wrapped in the paper.  Her old and frail father was ready to bless, cross and slice the bread, when somebody knocked on the door.  They looked at each other wondering who that would be.

She opened the door.

First thing she saw was his happy wide smile lighting up the dark walkway of the corridor.

“I brought white wine for the fish.  Would love to share it with you and your father”, said my Dad as he handled a bottle to my speechless Mama.

Celebrate your love every day!

Thank you for visiting,

Sophia

© 2015 - sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved

... CHEECHAKOS AND OLD SOURDOUGHS – project “52”

THE MAN FROM ELDORADO

He's the man from Eldorado, and he's just arrived in town,

In moccasins and oily buckskin shirt.
He's gaunt as any Indian, and pretty nigh as brown;
He's greasy, and he smells of sweat and dirt.
He sports a crop of whiskers that would shame a healthy hog;
Hard work has racked his joints and stooped his back;
He slops along the sidewalk followed by his yellow dog,
But he's got a bunch of gold-dust in his sack.

He seems a little wistful as he blinks at all the lights,
And maybe he is thinking of his claim
And the dark and dwarfish cabin where he lay and dreamed at nights,
(Thank God, he'll never see the place again!)
Where he lived on tinned tomatoes, beef embalmed and sourdough bread,
On rusty beans and bacon furred with mould;
His stomach's out of kilter and his system full of lead,
But it's over, and his poke is full of gold.
... ... ... ... ... 

He's the man from Eldorado, and they found him stiff and dead,
Half covered by the freezing ooze and dirt.
A clotted Colt was in his hand, a hole was in his head,
And he wore an old and oily buckskin shirt.
His eyes were fixed and horrible, as one who hails the end;
The frost had set him rigid as a log;
And there, half lying on his breast, his last and only friend,
There crouched and whined a mangy yellow dog.

by Robert W. Service

Thank you for visiting,

Sophia

© 2015 - sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved

A GENTLEMAN'S BREAKFAST – project “52”

A gentleman he ought to be…

As he entered the life of the upper classes through the back stairways, he persistently was keeping the appearance of closely shaved and slightly tipsy handsome bachelor.

He spent his young years hunting as an young buck will chase the best deer to mate with.  Days merged with nights, late dinners turned into untimely breakfasts…  In the hound for the right trophy he lost the sense of time and being.

Now, that he had under his belt a wealthy wife, whose father was in the Parliament and a flirt for a mother in law, his appearance was becoming slightly shaved and increasingly tipsy…

Ah, the gentleman he never was…

Thank you for visiting,

Sophia

© 2015 - sophia terra~ziva.  all rights reserved