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

jueves, 10 de julio de 2008

when the match of love ignites all

15th entry to the Colonel’s Scrapbook

Born on the 9th of july

1819 Elias Howe ,was born in Spencer, Massachussetts, he invented sewing machine
1879 Ottorino Respighi was born in Bologna, Italy, the greatest composer of instrumental music after Vivaldi among all Italian musicians (Pines of Rome)
1929 Hassan II came to this world, he was king of Morocco (crowned in 1961)

Things like these happened today

1540 England's King Henry VIII 6 month marriage to Anne of Cleves was annulled.”Oh,God,I will die if I have to bed that carthorse,”wailed the monarch upon seeing her. After they were unwed, they became great chums.1595 Johannes Kepler inscribes geometric solid construction of universe

10th of July,
1509 John Calvin Protestant religious reformer/theologian,really taight people how to work hard too
1835 Henryk Wieniawski Lubin Poland, violinist/composer (Souvenir de Moscou), music not fit for diabetics, too sweet, makes my teeth jump and my skin crawl. 1856 Nikola Tesla physicist, developed alternating current while Edison ranted and raved killing thousands of animals to prove his direct current was a hit
1871 Marcel Proust France, novelist (Remembrance of Things Past),smarmy olg gossip who loved to torture mice

1559 King Henri II Valois of France, after 10 day agony because his head was neatly skewered while jousting. Pitiful sight, he yelled for his mistress but his wife shut her out, his heir had infected ears, and he looked like hell. You wouldn’t have wanted to see his infected head right after demolishing a 5-course dinner.


Are marriages truly made in heaven, but the ground work has to be done here,or not? First of all you may wonder why I smacked on double date entry into one. Not my laziness, dearest heart. Go ask the Spaniards who run the robber company Union Fenosa in my backward but beautiful Nicaragua. They are always cutting off our energy supply but the bills they charge are as fat as if we had a 45 hours day and each second of this day we had energy. Spaniards continue to milk dry our American continent, and I mean American in the true sense of the word because from Patagonia onto Alaska we are all Americans although some people from USA self righteously believe only they have access to the American denomination. So here I am back with you, most cherished of readers, taking blood from my heart to use as ink. Because when I speak of love matches, matches also mean the ignition of a fire that sometimes cannot be quenched in a lifetime holding the beloved’s hand. I scoff at love stories because this is expected from me. But way inside I wish I knew one first-hand, and when I say firsthand I mean …happening to me.
Look at how many things in history may go right or wrong just because someone is in love with Mr.Right or Mr.Wrong. King Henry the Glutton,ooops,excuse me,Tudor,VIIIth, could not get himself to copulate with the ugliest woman on earth, who was Princess Anne of Cleves. He had expected to feel all the galloping passion he once brewed in his heart(or elsewhere lower I might say)for his previous Anne(Boleyn), but Anne of Cleves had bribed the court painter into making a favorable portrait of her so as to nab the womanizing English redbeard. No wonder when Henry when seeing his fourth bride almost tossed his cookies in disgust. The lady was outstandingly like a standing mare, ugly, pockmarked, ignorant and contrary. She was lucky not to have been beheaded by the sovereign, who had sent his once adored Anne Boleyn to death just because his passion was spent. Once rid of each other, after 6 months of ridiculous pretense, the king and his ex became fond drinking pals. Love was never there for anything else.
Kings usually have a hard time matching duty to their amorous impulses. Look at poor bigoted,bearded French king Henri II of Valois. After having been a hostage of the Spanish king Charles I because his father Francis I bought his freedom substituting Henri as a hostage, he was forced to wed a fat,ugly,dumpy, conniving and possessive sack of money from the Medici dynasty(which had never been royal but only moneyed through all the swindling done by their banks) when he had already given his heart to an older woman, the beautiful and married Diane de Poitiers. Just the sight of Catherine of Medici drove him screaming from the royal bedroom, and I cannot imagine how he got himself randy enough to sire almost a dozen kids on her. Diane de Poitiers, sure of the king’s love, would drag him to the bedroom where Catherine awaited, begging her lover to close his eyes and to think of her at the crucial moment so he would not be rendered dysfunctional. No wonder all the children born unto Henri by his wife were such a disappointment, weak,wobbly, with deformities, sickly or sterile. Sure dry humps and excuse me the term. So when King Henri II broke that last fatidic lance with Lord Montgomery while partying and jousting, just as the court astrologer Nostradamus, had predicted in a quartet from his Centuries, both Diane and his queen held their breath in fear. The lance went through his temple,skewering his head as neatly as a delicious kebab. Two criminals that awaited execution were sped into death and their heads cut off so the surgeon could study a way how to unskewer the monarch’s head while trying to keep him alive and thinking as well as he did before the accident(something which I closely question, he was a priggish and pompous cad). But we were far away from Sir Alexander Fleming looking at a suspicious black mold on his lab dish,so antibiotics weren’t even predicted by Nostradamus),and while he was still asking his wife to fetch him Diane de Poitiers for a last kiss, he just conked out, noisily vomited something blue and just bought the farm. So much love gone astray for Diane.
Love is grand but it complicates things. It can make you flee to Serbia on a fast train because you don’t want to shake its perfumed hand. It can blind you to the fact that some things don’t happen elsewhere than on movies or cheap soap operas. Lack of love makes the betrothed ask herself how is she going to convert her fiance, who was forced on her due to a marriage of convenience as Jews of the old school go about, to look like a prince when he is the exact carbon copy of a frog, even before the wedding night has taken place? Normally the princess falls in love with the Blue Prince, beds him panting with lust, but when she wakes up she finds a happy bullfrog croaking on the pillow next to her, right? Are there disenchantment-proof matches? Where did the acne-ridden,stocky little elf who was my first fiancé go? He gained more weight, became a cruel capitalist, a body merchant, and now complains his kids are a mess and his wife cannot make beef stroganoff in a kosher version. I never felt the pheromones that are still dormant in my body wake up and make a rebellion.
My parents did know what a love match was. From that sunny afternoon when my mother was sighted by my redheaded dad, eating a sundae with three of her best girlfriends, wearing a pale lime voile dress and matching satin slippers, something happened there. While the alluring Juana ate her ice cream seated at a table with her lady friends, in the middle of San Antonio Park, only one block away from the regal townhouse where she lived in the center of Managua, Cupid was at work. My dad, whose first wife had died 10 months before he saw Juana, was just strolling his way through the park when he saw my future mom having a nice time. He used to mention that he started sweating at several pints per second, the area around his anal area went ice cold(sure symptom of the coup de foudre or love at first sight), his heart was dancing flamenco in his chest and his throat went drier than the Atacama and Sahara desert lumped together into one. He had no better thing to do than to start running towards the woman who provoked this violent reaction, and dove into the table as an expert swimmer diving into an Olympic swimming pool. He fell on top of the food-laden table, causing the ice cream to fall on my mom’s dress.Then immediately he grabbed her by the neck and yelled with his eyes popping out,”Don’t you move or go anywhere miss because you are going to be my wife until we die.” My mom’s friends fled screamiong, my mother somehow got free from his grip, and leaving her satin shoes behind, ran on stocking feet back to her house, where she nearly knocked the front door down in her attempt to save herself from the human octopus who was following her,screaming and gasping and blowing kisses at her. My grandmother happened to open the door and shut it quickly just on time for the man to stay outside.
The man was convulsively crying, jumping like a monkey and he asked to see once more the most beautiful creature, explaining he meant well and had only marriage and respect in mind. My grandmother, accustomed to be the beauty of the family and never having seen Juana as an alluring girl, said she promised nothing but she would have a talk with her daughter.
The following day my mom was ready to receive her suitor at 5 p.m. and the magic happened. She realized how nice the chap was, and they started a whirlwind romance. My dad had 8 children, not all of them living with him. He had sired 4 on his first wife, and an additional batch of four more on his three successive mistresses. He explained that his first wife and him had been married by arranged marriage.No love there. She had been tolerant to his three concubines. All his kids had his last name, and he looked after all of them, although the ones had by his mistresses lived elsewhere, one in Madagascar,another in Brazil and the twins in Miami. He had lost his first wife in an accident 10 months ago, when she and the eldest daughter had run into the back of a gas cistern in Granada. H e wanted immediate marriage. My mom said it wasn’t proper to marry like that, he had to respect the memory of his dead wife and kid, so after one year had passed since the tragedy, they would wed. And they did, with a huge church wedding because my mom was still a non-practicing Catholic, and a Jewish wedding because he was an atheist but had been born a Jew. My mom was afraid the chutzpah would fall on her head. Even the president of our country came to the wedding feast.
Did they live happily ever after? Probably. Whatever my dad saw in my mom, he never forgot about it for a single second. He was like the Skunk Pepe Le Pooh always hugging and crooning to my mom,who would be the accidented cat of the cartoon. I ended up being the favorite of all nine kids because I was Juana’s baby. They died together in a plane crash in Honduras in 1989.It was awful for me, but even that, meeting the dark camel of death, came as a joint activity for them as a couple. Love?If that wasn’t love who knows how the hell to call it.
Whatever it was, it fits the description of love match. Mad in heaven, or wherever,it worked. Now I only have to knock on wood in order for the genie in the bottle, or the light in my computer, or the silver bullet I keep in my Makarov pistol, to go on with the rest.

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