Tras haber creado mi anterior blog cecilmundo varias personas, muchos de ellos mis alumnos, me sugirieron que creara una secciòn dentro de cecilmundo para publicar mis obras de docencia de idiomas. Dado que la cantidad de documentos de explicaciones, ejercicios y exàmenes de inglès son muy numerosos porque tengo màs de 30 años del ejercicio de la docencia, preferì estrenar blog con mis alumnos a como ellos realmente merecen. En este blog planetcecil no solo iràn mis documentos didàcticos de inglès, sino tambièn la producciòn literaria de varios alumnos que se destacan en las letras. Tambièn darè oportunidad a aquellos que tienen excelentes obras pero que no han logrado publicarlas ya que en mi paìs Nicaragua todo se mueve por la marrana polìtica, y si una no pertenece a determinado partido no verà jamàs publicado su opus. Tambièn tenemos la desgracia de contar con seudoeditores quienes al no conocer verdaderamente de literatura se convierten en mercenarios de la imprenta solo para llenarse ellos mismo de dinero y fama a costillas de los escritores. Todos aquellos que deseen participar en este blog, denlo de antemano por suyo. Aunque lleve mi nombre en un arranque de egolatrìa, yo soy sencillamente vuestra servidora.Cecilia

Las alas de la educación

Las alas de la educación
La educación es un viaje sin final.

La lección de física

La lección de física
Casi aprendida

lunes, 7 de julio de 2008

the gift of mirth

13th entry to The Colonel`s Scrapbook

Born on a day like today were
1860 Gustav Mahler Kalischat Bohemia Austria, composer/conductor (Titan),poor cuckold 1887 Marc Chagall Vitebsk Russia, artist (I & The Village),the world was never as beautiful as in his paintings
1752 Joseph-Marie Jacquard invented programmable loom and we follow him by knitting our own plans
1907 peerless Frida Kahlo is born in Coyoacàn ,Mexico, the greatest Latin American paintress.
1898 US annexes Hawai and the last queen,Liliuokalani,retired to make quilts and had no laughter about her situation

“Every woman who laughs hard is a queen, and the majority of times a man, of course ,is her buffoon.”
Being in front of the keyboard, my hair gathered atop my head in a knot in any old way, the stars off my shoulders but ready to dance a ballet in my eyes, a smile involuntarily climbs to my mouth. I conjure up the image of a man walking in his white tunic, laughing his head off. He said the atom was indivisible. Big deal, I don`t remember him for this. So many anecdotes about his good nature, his readiness to laugh and how loved he was by everyone despite the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth-a rich man`s sunny kid. Even at age 90 this outstanding Greek didn`t wilt just because his eyesight was poor. In 370 he left this world and he left us with the image of laughter as an eternal remedy. You told me I had been born with a silver, or was it gold, spoon in my mouth. In a mouth that was also destined to be laughing most of the time. I am in love with laughter. Mirth is the glibenclamide with metformin that keeps the glucose of my good wit in balanced shape. Which is why my doctor can`t understand why I am not the typical overedgy, ill-tempered diabetic
I will never understand anyone who travels through life without a sense of humor. Laughter has been an essential ingredient throughout my 48 years of being in this crazy world. The first time I was aware of laughter was when I was a little kid and we had a very ugly dog called Whisky. Some years before I gloriously entered this world after my mommy had the bad sense to ride an angry stallion bareback when she was 6 and three weeks pregnant, accelerating my dèbut, the dog had been hit on the left hind leg by a passing motorcycle. The animal had been given loving care and medical attention, and no scars remained on his body.He didn`t even limp when he ran. But every time one of the delivery messengers that worked at a super-drugstore located one block away passed, Whisky would piteously howl, lower his arse,and drag both hind legs behind him. His trauma was working on him. It was a sorry and funny sight at the same time. Which brings me down to pointing something out for you: Whisky was a male.
Humour can be like an unexpected pail of water thrown over you. Sometimes you need it.
Sometimes males need it desperately so they can gain insight into their own perspectives. Even us females need it. Which is why my favourite student will continue being my pet pupil for as long as he keeps his bubbly wit. It is the same guy that when I told him I loved sunflowers because I identified with them, that they were bright-fringed but with a sinister center like me, he added they also were used for oil, in reference to the fact that I am a woman with ample girth. And even more mirth. He has never let me hide in any corner of gloom, not even when I broke my ankle last January. Guardian of my peals of laughter, I could not live without him. Let`s hope I never have to feel what it is like not having him around.
Humour has made my history class one of the preferred courses for students of all age. I don`t know if it happened to you that the history class was a period of watching fungus grow on the wall, so boring it was. So many treaties, dates, borders, lines of succession. What for? Do you remember all that ?What for? But when your teacher tells you that emperor Humayun, barely a dash to genealogically join Babar the Tiger to Akbar the Great, died when he tripped over his own feet and landed at the bottom of the steps on his arse, the air gets lighter around the classroom. History is full of guffaws like this one because it is made by people, and people are always causing laughter even when they believe they want tears.
99 per cent of time, when women laugh, we are queens. Queens because only queens can afford having a buffoon. Buffoons are always men. Preferrably our men. Or the ones who try to pull our leg by saying they are ours, when thank heaven the poor mites don`t even belong to themselves. “Our” males who think of ownership in their terms but never in ours. Thank life they do not belong to us, I would be terribly appalled to have one tied in my backyard, least of all without an owner`s manual and fearing that any moment, he will spring up like an ape, grab me around the neck and wrestle with me in the mud. When our house cat is no longer nimble for us to see him being chased by the nimbler mice, screeching at us to save him or he will have a stroke…sometimes we look for a aqueak toy
elsewhere. Some very inexpensive ones can be had anywhere,from your neighbourhood to the internet. I found a particularly comic one in the internet, and he gives me a big run for the big gob of money I pay for the internet service that doesn`t work all the time The poor chap not only howls better than a shot coyote when he stresses the u in you, but he jumps up and down as if he were stuck on a pogo stick, recommends several brands of metallic intimate toys and then when he finally gets over what he is doing, he has a lot of cleaning up to do. Do men realize how vulnerably ridiculous they sound when proclaiming eternal bliss through the ether of internet? Specially with their nether parts already dangling droopingly like a limp dishtowel in their hands?.
Now you will question me, ok, madam if men are the clowns 99 per cent of time, what happens with the rest, with the 1 per cent? What do women laugh at in that 1 percent? Ourselves, heart of my reading hours, ourselves. Ourselves when our pheromones are in gear, when we have been so silly as to believe in your gossamer promises, your unexcusable excuses to cover the fact that most men are born liars and will follow Newton`s law of inertia by continuing to be like that unless some tragedy forces them to admit they were bullshitting us.. Women in love can be even more ridiculous than men in the same hopeless situation. Look at stupid Gustav Mahler, born on a day like today, running wild over his wife Alma, who cuckolded him with anyone and anything in sight.
How many lies, sweet little lies, like Fleetwood Mac sings, did she feed him? Wasn´t he the laughingstock of all Vienna? Laughter for the public, who didn`t even like Mahler` s extra-long, noisy and rambunctious symphonies. Man, always the cheap clown at the end of the festival.
It was wit, a sense of what is funny, what kept the Jewish Mexican painter Frida Kahlo going, despite her numerous pains and fractures and that huge accident that was for her Diego Rivera, her own burly husband. The same humour which made me realize how ridiculous I would look in a wheelchair for the rest of my life if I didn`t fight back so I could walk normally again as I do now.
Laughter has been called the golden rain from angel`s wings. It is sprinkled liberally over us when we are born, golden spoon like Democritus of Abderàs or mine, or not. Laughter is what money cannot buy, because you can pay the best comedian and not laugh. I understand why Mick jagger complained in his song Hard woman to please that his lover had wanted diamonds and not the laughter that he gave her. I, unlike the woman in Jagger`s hit, can tell anyone to keep the diamonds. I will continue laughing my way through life,and probably, when my heart is severed from my body to be thrown into the waters of my San Juan River, it will still be chuckling its way down into immortality.

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