Thoughts

Houses I Wouldn’t Mind to Live In

Since Kuwait is such a … disparate place when it comes to architecture, and my only hobby while being driven in a car is to look out of the window on the people’s housings, I’ve had this very unoriginal idea of putting together an entry featuring some things which caught my eye – for different reasons, some aesthetics-wise, some living-wise, some idea-wise. It’s a personal collection of caught-my-eye and I hope some people will enjoy looking at it as much as I do – or even dream for a bit, as much as I do.
I owe thanks to particular topic discussed on CyberSpace.cz for collecting so many great pictures from the depths of the internet, as well.

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Razor Unsharp Air

September is almost over and October approaching, together with (hopefully) milder weather for few weeks – or maybe even a month or two. I can’t wait to open the windows in the morning and actually feel the cold air coming, never mind the freezing flat, because that’s what I really need right now – opened window with a light breeze coming in. Don’t get me wrong, I love the humid, heavy smell of sea which is quite omnipresent these days, but it would be so much better if it was Newcastle-like, with this cold razor sharp edge to it, which refreshes the heck out of you. God, how I miss those freezing mornings when going shopping, really. In Kuwait the air comes with an oven hot “thud” while it makes you sit on chair and go – “Daaaamn, why did I open the window again?” So, I’m putting my hopes on December and January, please, be it at least 5 degrees! I don’t care, I’m gonna dress in twenty sweaters and a blanket, just make the air fresh, please.
Dori started to attend British Gulf Academy as a reception classmate, and so far she likes it, although she seems to spend half time at home sick. Makes me tick when she brings home some headaches, running noses, hurting tonsils and deep cough, just because another parent of another child couln’t be bothered to keep his / her kid at home till healthy and sends that bag of germs to school to make all the other 29 kids suffer along and eventually (such as in case of Dori who’s since her ear problems quite oversensitive on anybody sick in her vicinity) get sick as well. And that can go on for weeks, becasue it’s usually not only one parent, who doesn’t care about the other kids. Hands down, I understand the need to send the child to school continuously – I have it too – to educate the small and clever brain and get the most out of the lessons, but really, it’s better to keep the kid a week at home and let the others attend without problems; the teacher will supply the ill kid as soon as he or she comes back with a handful of homework to catch up, so no worry. Let the others have fun too! Like this Dori seems to be on the receiving end of all kinds of viruses (the joy, when hubby came home announcing all her class suffers from ear infection, obviously transferable) and being the kid with that handful of homework. I let her stay at home up to the point we’re sure she’s perfectly fine, and two days later she comes back sick again, because… well, above.
I remember from my years on grammar school, our biology teacher used to say, “If you’re sick, stay at home, because I won’t let you attend my classes anyways, come back when you’re ready.” She was right, and she knew why. I wish more people had that sense in them.

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Training the Forgotten

Recently I’ve decided to look upon my drawing past again, with the sad fact I probably can’t and ever won’t recover the tens or maybe even hundreds of sketches from high school, college and before. I didn’t take much things with me to England, let alone to Kuwait, but a bunch of soft graphite pencils traveled with me and are haunting the drawer in my table now, so why not to make a use of them.
The problem with drawing skills is that it is indeed not comparable to riding a bicycle and you’re completely capable to forget it all, without any ongoing practice. So did I.
And since I’m stubborn and dedicated as far as I want something, I’ve started from scratch, practicing and drawing and sketching and being completely mad at myself, not noting the great deal of disappointment that I can’t even remotely draw as I used to – and weeks and months of drawing are ahead of me, IF I want to get at least on par with past, or maybe even better.
I’ve got some exercise books which don’t take any beginner lightly and smack you right at start with dozens of drill and copying so you can get it back in hand again. They’re merciless to your mistakes, but in the end, if one wants to draw, he shouldn’t expect much soft approach on the side of other artists, right..?


Here’s my first sketch – purely exercise to get the movement back into hand and of awful quality, but hey, I’m trying! For anyone interested, I’m using two books – The Natural Way to Draw: A Working Plan for Art Study & Charles Bargue with the collaboration of Jean-Léon Gérôme: Drawing Course.

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Tripping

Yay! Finally we’ve managed to get the tickets for our trip back booked and inshallah by tomorrow at this hour I’ll be boarding a Emirati plane to Kuwait at Dubai airport.
emarati airlines
The same flight as always, long and exhausting trip counting over 12 hours and even more, but after soooo long I will be able to hug my husband again. I really dislike the idea of having to sit on the mid row with two other poeple, especially on the longer flight, but at least we’re moving now. Let’s hope it won’t be anyone un-behaved, stinky or drunk, as it happens so often.
Wish us the best, please, and a safe trip.
See y’all in Kuwait!

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Stuck Waiting

Days flow like a sand through my fingers, all same, a copy & paste of each other now – Ramadan always changes the whole tempo of life, but being in Czech and alone changed it a lot. Well; it’s my first fasting in Czech Republic and besides the fact that I’ll probably eat a cow at once when I come back home (no halal meat nearby at this forgotten place), the summer days here are pretty long, understand, the light period of a day is damn long and thirsty; and yes, indeed I’m not physically alone, since I’m with my parents and sometimes with my bro and his GF here as well (who smirk very childishly at any mention of Muslim, Islam, or fasting – gosh, who of the sane mind would ever starve and thirst himself just to prove something as mere as self-discipline, and for so silly reasons such as the love of God! – but hey, I’m getting used to it again, the omnipresent misunderstanding and misconception of what I do believe in, not quite mentioning the fact that who believes in any kind of God or Greater Power in this country is deemed as completely nuts and weak. Dooh.).
So I’ve set my mind and body on sleeping late, getting up late, not biting my daughter in her butt when she’s innocently stuffing a doughnut under my nose throughout the course of the day, not swearing (hard sometimes!, I’m quite a bad mouth), and trying to invent telepathy or even better teleportation. One is obvious, second to put an annoying thought in the head of any officer handing our papers at the very moment, and that being that they’ve got to be done as soon as possible, yesterday was too late. Doesn’t work, so far, needless to say.


I’m waiting, waiting and waiting, for someone to finish it off already and let us back, because I miss my spouse so much it’s unbelievable, so much that my heart physically hurts when I think of how far apart we are and how long I didn’t put my ear on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
Kiddo misses her daddy as well but due to the fact that she’s surrounded by rather new (to her) forests, meadows, rivers and inland summer and her loving grandparents, she’s not usually as sad and blue as I am. Which is good, ‘coz two depressed chicks would be rather a lot to take on.
So I fast alone and long after the closeness of my beloved one – yes, even now after years of marriage I’m still crazy in love and I can say I love him more and deeper than ever before – and hope that our jinnie took her holidays and I can see my obsidian-eyed, ebony-haired and kind-hearted husband before Eid Al-Fitr comes…

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Sbírka úsporných, prakticky vyzkoušených předpisů a návodů, jak vařiti v malé domácnosti.

Už léta se snažím zjistit, kam se poděla zhruba stovka mých skic a kreseb z období střední školy i předtím, a naprosto náhodně podlehám pocitu, že mi to přeci pečliví rodičové nevyhodili, alébrž jen (ne)pěkně uschovali a na skicy se stále někde na naší půdě snáší milosrdný prach; pak se tedy vydávám po schodech do záhadného patra nad bytem, které je světem samo o sobě a jsou v něm ve všelikých krabicích i mimo ně poskládané knihy, papíry, korespondence i další perly naší rodiny za minulých zhruba sto dvacet let. Že se uprostřed pátrání po složce papírů velikosti A3 vždy přistihnu, jak pročítám a prolézám něco mnohem zajímavějšího, nevadí. Rozuměj, skicy mi velmi chybí a nepředstavitelně mne štve, že po nich není ani vidu, ani slechu (ovšem za předpokladu, že klidně ležící složka papírů by nějaké slyšitelné zvuky vydávala); ale je mnohem více fascinující vidět zdobný rukopis na obálkách adresovaných mému dědu (kterého jsem ani neměla tu čest poznat) z roku 1935, kdy byl v Praze váženým pánem, či pročítat obdobu dnešních nemravných Harlequinek ještě z konce 19. století; případně jako dnes se zmocnit kuchařinky bez data vydání (dle chytrých internétů byla ona kniha vydávána během obou světových válek i mezi nimi a těžko říct, kterého roku spatřila světlo světa ta má – tedy dle rukopisu babiččina, ale nyní již má – kniha).
Vzhledem k tomu, jak velmi odlišný způsob života vedeme dnes v porovnání s dobou před sedmdesáti léty (!), není na škodu nějaké tipy pro domácnost i mladé maminky předat dál – ať již pro zasmání, porovnání či načerpání dlouho zapomenutých mouder i nemouder.
Nehodlám samosebou přepisovat celou knihu, pouze citovat vybrané části.

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