Tag Archives: Love
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Happy Mothers’ Day!

11 May

Mother's Day

Being a mother is an attitude, not biological relation.” ~ Robert A. Heinlein

 

 

Hello and welcome! I want to wish all the wonderful moms out there a happy mothers’ day! I hope you all have a fantastic day pampered by your loved ones (you deserve it). ❤

 

 

*For a very special treat click here to visit Life, love and Other Catastrophes to read a gorgeous poem written by my friend and talented poet Yolanda Isabel Regueira Marin. You are guaranteed to love it. ❤

 

 

(A short excerpt from my novel The Basement)

 

 

Robbie’s mom smiled and warmly hugged him. She was about to tell him to wash up for dinner when she realized something was wrong.
Robbie’s eyes betrayed recent tears.
“What happened Robbie?” she asked. She saw the answer to her question almost immediately.
Robbie’s knees were scraped and bloody.
Robbie’s mom quickly cleaned and patched up his wounded knees. All the while she sang to him and gazed at him with her serene blue eyes glittering with love. She reminded Robbie of a cherub.
She healed his wounded heart with her melody. Her song was comforting and her words heavenly. It did not matter to Robbie she was not a good singer.
~The Basement

 

 

 

Mom and Me

Best friends mom and me

Picking flowers and climbing trees.

A shoulder to cry on secrets to share

Warm hearts and hands that really care.

~Unknown Author

First Mothers’ Day

New mom.

New fun.

So blessed.

This one.

Long nights.

Short days.

Go back?

No way.

~Unknown Author

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The Mysterious Origins Of Valentine’s Day

7 Feb
The Mysterious Origins Of Valentine's Day

Check out spoonful.com (or click on picture) to learn how to make these.

 

Valentines’ Day

Thanks to the Discovery and History Channels, I’m pretty much obsessed with finding out the origin and history of things. So I thought, Why not write a post about the origins of St. Valentine’s Day? It turns out that the history of Valentine’s Day is abstruse and is made more confusing by the various legends surrounding its origins.

Some authors claim that the holiday’s roots are in the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia, a fertility commemoration celebrated annually on February 15. The pagan festival of Lupercalia is one of the oldest holidays, and perhaps that is why some of the details of its rituals have been lost. It is said a goat was sacrificed and the hide of the animal was cut into strips, which were later used as whips. Young men would strip naked or wear elaborate masks (made from  goats’ heads) and run around whipping young women.

Lupercalia

The ritual was to ensure fertility. Striking the women may have represented penetration. The symbolic penetration, broken skin, made by a piece of a fertility symbol (the goat), was apparently thought to be effective.  Each man would also draw the name of a young woman in a lottery and would then keep the woman as a sexual companion for the year. Pope Gelasius I re-formed this pagan festival as a Christian feast day circa 496, declaring February 14 to be St. Valentine’s Day.

 

There were three St. Valentines mentioned by the martyrologies of the Roman Catholic Church, and it’s not clear which one the day is honoring.

 

According to legend, one of the Valentine martyrs was beheaded on February 14th for secretly performing illegal Christian marriages for soldiers. Supposedly, the Roman Emperor Claudius II forbade this in order to expand his army, believing that married men did not make good soldiers.

 

St. Valentine theoretically wore a purple amethyst ring, which was customary for Christian bishops, with an image of Cupid engraved in it, a recognizable symbol associated with love that was legal under the Roman Empire. Roman soldiers would recognize the ring and ask him to perform the marriage ceremony for them. Possibly because of the connection with St. Valentine, amethyst has become the birthstone of February, and it is thought to attract love.

 

Legend states that St. Valentine cut hearts from parchments and gave them to the soldiers to remind them of their vows and God’s love, a possible source of the common use of hearts on St. Valentine’s Day.

 

Also according to legend, St. Valentine miraculously cured his jailer’s  daughter, Julia, of blindness. On the evening before Valentine was beheaded, he wrote Julia the very first ‘Valentine’ card himself, signing it ‘your Valentine’. Hence, modern Valentine letters later adopted the expression ‘From your Valentine’. I don’t know about you, but I feel there’s a passionate romance story in there somewhere. Anyway, that’s what I’ve pieced together as the history/legend of Valentine’s Day.

 

Here are some interesting facts regarding Valentine’s Day:

 

* A recent poll found that 1 in 10 young adults admitted to feeling lonely, insecure, depressed, or unwanted on Valentine’s Day.

 

* 40% of people have negative feelings toward Valentine’s Day.

 

* Penicillin, a popular treatment for venereal diseases such as syphilis, was introduced to the world on February 14, 1929.

 

* The phrase ‘sweets for the sweet’ is a line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

Do you have negative feelings about Valentine’s Day? How do you feel about the Holiday?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Crying Boy

21 Jan

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While on Google+ I came across a post written by my friend Mohammad Alsous. There’s always a lesson to be learned with every post he publishes. I wanted to share this with you guys, but I have to warn you that it brought me to tears.

THE POST 

On a bright and sunny day a man polished his prized possession–his new car.  His 4 year old son picked up a stone and scratched lines on the side of the car.

In a fit of anger, the man took the child’s hand and hit it many times; not realizing he was using a wrench.

At the hospital, the child lost all his fingers due to multiple fractures.

When the child saw his father…..with painful eyes he asked, “Dad when will my fingers grow back?”

The man was so hurt and speechless; he went back to his car and kicked it repeatedly.

Devastated by his own actions his knees buckled and he landed on the ground sitting.

As he sat in front of his car he looked through vision blurred with tears at the scratches his child had made. The boy had written ‘LOVE YOU DAD’.

The next day that man committed suicide.

Mohammad’s words…

Anger and Love have no limits ,,,
Things are to be used and people are to be loved, but the problem in today’s world is that, People are used and things are loved.

During this year, let’s be careful to keep this thought in mind:
Things are to be used, but People are to be loved.

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Curse Of The Crying Boy!

How an urban legend erupted into fiery headlines. ~ Fortean Times

(Click on the images below to read the accounts)

Curse of the crying boy

curse of the crying boy

The curse of the crying boy

The Crying Boy

Cold Touch

by Denise Morgan

A cold touch, shivers
Turned full circle, no one
Ghostly encounter.

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Lyrical

2 Oct

Lyrics

Hello wonderful people! Welcome to my blog. Today I would like to share one of my favorite songs by the singer/songwriter Bruno Mars. It’s called “When I Was Your Man” and it’s one of those songs that grip your heart, not just with its melody,  but with the lyrics as well. It’s a romantic and dulcet soul/pop piano ballad about a pre-fame heartbreak. Most of us have that one man or woman we let get away. He regrets the way he treated her and sincerely wishes that her new man treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Well, read the lyrics, which is poetry set to music (my opinion), and then listen and watch Bruno’s performance. If you’re not sitting dreamy thinking of a lost love by the end of this, then I don’t know what to tell you. ;D  Enjoy!

“When I Was Your Man”

Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now
Our song on the radio but it don’t sound the same
When our friends talk about you, all it does is just tear me down
‘Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name

It all just sounds like oooooh…
Mmm, too young, too dumb to realize
That I should’ve bought you flowers
And held your hand
Should’ve gave you all my hours
When I had the chance
Take you to every party
‘Cause all you wanted to do was dance
Now my baby’s dancing
But she’s dancing with another man

My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways
Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life
Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made, ohh…
And it haunts me every time I close my eyes

It all just sounds like oooooh…
Mmm, too young, too dumb to realize
That I should’ve have bought you flowers
And held your hand
Should’ve gave you all my hours
When I had the chance
Take you to every party
‘Cause all you wanted to do was dance
Now my baby’s dancing
But she’s dancing with another man

Although it hurts
I’ll be the first to say that I was wrong
Oh, I know I’m probably much too late
To try and apologize for my mistakes
But I just want you to know

I hope he buys you flowers
I hope he holds your hand
Give you all his hours
When he has the chance
Take you to every party
‘Cause I remember how much you loved to dance
Do all the things I should have done
When I was your man
Do all the things I should have done
When I was your man

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Bruno-Mars-Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog

Do you regret someone you let get away?

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Happiness Is A Thing To Be Practiced, Like A Violin.

13 Aug
Happiness Is A Thing To Be Practiced, Like A Violin.

David Garrett

Hello! Welcome to my blog. I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In this post I would like to introduce to you a record-breaking German classical and crossover violinist and recording artist David Garrett.

He gets his first violin at age four and makes his first appearance with the Hamburg Philharmonics at the early age of ten. At age thirteen he is the youngest artist to be awarded an exclusive contract with the Deutsche Grammophon Gesellschaft. In 1999, at the height of his career, the shooting star redirects his energy, deciding to leave his predetermined path as a classical violinist and move to New York – not to take a time-out but rather to place his musical proficiency on a theoretical foundation and perfect his technique. He enrolls at the prestigious Julliard School, studying musicology and composition.

Instruction with Itzhak Perlmann lends his performance completely new facets. David Garrett’s particular enthusiasm for studying composition earns him a distinction in 2003 when he wins the renowned Composition Competition of Julliard School with a fugue composed in the style of Johann Sebastian Bach. In doing so, he lays the foundation for what have become legendary arrangements. His highly esteemed American composition teacher Eric Ewazen has said of him “As a violinist, his spectacular, heartfelt and expressive playing already dazzled – even when he was a student – those of us who had the great pleasure of teaching him, and we recognized his extraordinary gifts and his amazing talent.”  http://david-garrett.com/us/about/

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David Garrett’s personality and sex appeal is only surpassed by his talent.

Prominenz auf der AIDAluna

David Garrett breathes new life into the violin (classical music).

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Talent, personality and good looks makes David Garrett a “Super Star”

I hope you enjoyed!

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It Happened In An Elevator – Short Story

16 Jul

 

The Writer Next Door_Vashti Quiroz-Vega_love_story

It Happened In An Elevator

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

I was staying on the 10th floor of a ritzy Madison Avenue hotel in New York City. I was due in the conference room, where my presentation at a board meeting would shape my career. As I pushed the fifth floor button in the elevator commanding it to transport me to this engagement, I was entirely unaware my life would be changed forever: that a stranger would steal my heart. All of this before I had even reached my destination. Who knew so many emotions could blossom in a 4 by 7 ft. suspended box?
She entered my life on the ninth floor, hauling a suitcase on wheels. As her long, shapely legs crossed the threshold, her smile caught my breath. There was something in her glance that made my heart beat faster. A mermaid’s alluring voice said, “Ground floor, please.” She might as well have sung a lullaby. My knees faltered. What is happening to me? This is not the first beauty I’ve seen. I inhaled, remembering to breathe, and absently pressed the button, obeying her command.

 

 

I looked at my briefcase and reminded myself of the importance of my session on the fifth floor. My successful performance in this meeting would mean a promotion, a raise—all the things I had been focused on achieving. From the corner of my eye, I caught her checking me out. When I turned, she snapped her head forward and played with her hair. Does she feel it too? I swear the temperature in the small space went up a degree or two as I watched her lick her lips. The intense chemistry filled the chamber—primal, and thick enough to snuff out the air.

The elevator stopped. Talk to her! You may never get another chance. I wrestled with my id. A woman with a haggard face entered the elevator with her brood. Kids played and ran circles in the tight space, while their mother yelled at them to stop. A little boy pushed the beauty, knocking her into me. Prickly sensations coursed throughout my body. I reached out to steady her. As I touched her arm, my eyes narrowed. My pulse raced. I was on fire. Through a cacophony of shrieks and shouts I heard her say, “I’m sorry,” as she moved away a proper distance and tidied her formfitting skirt. How I envied her clothes!

The elevator stopped again. Momma and her chickadees scrambled out of the cubicle. The little boy who had shoved the fetching stranger looked over his shoulder and grinned at me, as if he knew I wanted to thank him. A few more floors, and she would leave my presence forever. As the doors closed before us, she glanced my way and giggled as she shook her head. “Kids,” I said. She nodded and lowered her eyes. She gathered her long tresses to one side, exposing her neck. She feels it too.

Once more, the elevator came to a standstill. This was the fifth floor, my floor. I clenched my jaw as I stared at my briefcase. The meeting can wait. I turned to look at her. She questioned me with her eyes, no doubt reminded that the fifth floor button was glowing when she first entered the elevator. She glanced at my briefcase and then at me again. Slowly the corners of her lips curved upwards. I imagined what they would taste like. Her face told me she knew I had to be somewhere else, but chose to ride with her instead. The doors opened, and I lost her gaze. Frustration began to set in as a woman invaded our sanctuary, her hair twisted in a severe bun. Although it was lit, the woman jabbed at the ground floor button. My body went slack. The last few floors would be spent with this intruder.

I turned my face and looked at the angel. I tried to muster the courage to speak to her. At least ask for her name. The rejection and maltreatment from beauties past rooted my being in fear and fixed my feet where they stood. Even my voice box was gripped firmly shut so as to prevent me from uttering words. Her lovely blonde hair glittered in the dim man-made radiance. I contemplated the smooth curves of her face. The silky texture of her sun kissed skin beckoned my touch.

Ding. The elevator doors slid open. More people plagued us by entering our world, but I forgave them since the alluring stranger moved closer to me to make way for the crowd. My chest heaved in rhythm with my rapid breathing. Her fragrance drifted into my nostrils, rendering me helpless. Her hips lightly brushed across my manhood, making it come to life. My body quivered. Making room for her luggage, she stood so close. She slowly turned her face toward me. We stared at each other. Speak to her! I could feel the warmth of her breath. I watched her full, rosy lips move to form words. My entire body tensed in anticipation. “This is my floor,” she said.

She might as well have stabbed me in the chest. The hoisting platform came to a halt, and my heart skipped a beat. The doors opened. One crowd departed the elevator while another multitude rushed to enter. She wove her way through the mob, slowed by her luggage. The fear that gripped my body finally released me, and I stepped forward to claim my destiny.

A hand took hold of my shoulder. “Ethan, I hope you’re ready for this meeting. Those men are sharks!” It was my boss, grinning and patting me on the back. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but my eyes kept roaming back to the captivating splendor crossing the threshold.

I gripped the handle of my briefcase tightly. “Yes sir, I am ready.” I stepped back to stand next to him and fixed my eyes on the ground. My heart turned to lead, the weight of it dragging me down. I lifted my eyes and watched her walk away. I had never longed for anything as much. Before stepping out of my life she turned and with her eyes, she kissed me goodbye.

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

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Have you ever had an experience like this? I’d love to hear about it in the comment section below. Tell me about the one that got away or the romance that almost was. ;D

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If You Love Me…

9 Jul

If You Love Me…

Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance, horror or humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, artists and even singers who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
In today’s post I feature a poem by gifted poet and writer Marta Merajver-Kurlat.

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IF YOU LOVE ME…

If you love me, do not clip my wings. Let me soar high up in the sky of my youth before the twilight dims the sun. Fear not for me. You carried me inside you. Now your sweet voice, a shield against venom-dipped spears, dwells in me.

If you love me, do not lock me in the golden cage of easy comfort. Let me fight my own battles with the weapons you taught me to wield. I cannot promise victory after victory, yet defeat will not take me to my knees.

If you love me, do not ask me to become your double. Do not wish me to succeed where you failed. Celebrate my choices and accept our difference. Take pride in my otherness, for it grew from your lessons and example.

If you love me, do not fret that I will walk the path alone. My eyes are sharp and my steps well guided. Think that on the train of life I will find fellow-travelers. Some will keep me company till they reach their destination; others will sit by me to the end of the way.

If you love me, do not weep when the door closes. Rejoice in my strength, for you spent long years building it. Rivers flow. You were a river once. When you conceived me in your desire for a child, a miracle of nature turned you into a mountain.

River and mountain feed on each other. Trust the bond between them.

Love me.

~ Marta Merajver-Kurlat

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Visit  Marta Merajver-Kurlat at the links below to enjoy more of her work.

http://www.martamerajver.com.ar/marta/

http://www.amazon.com/Marta-Merajver-Kurlat/e/B009TC8C5A

http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=7160675&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile

 

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Distorted Social Perception – It’s Only Me

28 Jun

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Hrithik Roshan

Hello! Welcome to my blog. My name is Vashti Quiroz-Vega, for those of you visiting for the first time. I am a writer of Fantasy, Suspense and Thrillers. I do, however, have a tendency to mix a little Romance, Horror or Humor (among other genres) into my stories.
I love art, creativity and beauty, and I know these come in many forms. In my quest to build my author platform, I have met and befriended a group of incredibly talented individuals. Writers, poets, artists, and musicians who are masterful at what they do. I feel blessed to have found them, and I would be selfish if I kept the beauty, artistry and creativeness of their craft all to myself.
So for the next few weeks I will be featuring their art, writings and music along with my own work on this blog. I guarantee you will enjoy every bit of it.
This week I will continue my features, and introduce the very talented poet and writer Rohit Chaudhury.

Rohit has written two powerful, passionate and deeply-felt poems, which I’m sure everyone will enjoy. There is beauty in honesty and his words are that and more.

Me

Why do you flee in my sight,
is it fear or is it my might.
Is it because I have seen pain,
to fulfill my foolish gains.

Is it because,
I watch you with cruelty.
With truth in my heart,
I curse quite fluently.

Is this the price,
to live genuinely.
A mask free life,
you all need so poorly.

You see me,
with your crooked sight.
You scorn me,
with your pretentious life.

I don’t care,
if it’s not justified.
Because this is the way,
one should live his life.

I know it’s unwise,
to live a life un-prioritized.
But I wish to die,
living my destined life.

~ Rohit Chaudhury

             ***

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Thank You

The sparkle in your eyes,
makes me wonder,
am I worthy of you?

My life was freed,
from certain sadness,
by the touch of your livelihood.

Not a movement ceases to be beautiful,
as my heart has finally sung,
was my life just waiting for you?

You are my miracle,
and you are my angel,
my love, thank you.

~ Rohit Chaudhury

Please visit Rohit Chaudhury’s Blog to read more of his fascinating poems.

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“It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see.

The writer shakes up the familiar scene, an, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

~ Anais Nin

“It hurts when you try to do what’s right, and all they see in you is wrong.

~ Unknown

“I’m not interested in trying to work on people’s perceptions. I am who I am, and if you don’t take the time to learn about that, then your perception is going to be your problem.”

~ Jim Brown

 

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Wedlock

9 Apr

Wedlock

Hi everyone! My name is Vashti and I’m an author. My first novel The Basement is a suspense/thriller aimed at pre-teens and teens, although, many adults have read and enjoyed the book. I’ve provided a short excerpt from the book today for your enjoyment (at least I hope you enjoy it). Please let me know what you think in the comment area. Thank you!

 

 

(Short excerpt from my novel The Basement)

Beaming, she stood over the bed, gesturing for him to get up. Her smile competed with the sun shining through their fifth floor apartment window, bathing her curves with resplendent golden light.

She is so beautiful, he thought. He craved to pull her back down onto the bed and simply devour her. Instead, he watched as she giggled and disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for the day. He followed her lead and got out of bed. Wearing a big grin, he began to dress.

They were acting like honeymooners. All marriages had their good years and bad years, and they were in a good year.

 
~Excerpt from The Basement

Illustration – Queen’s Kiss by Lancerey (Click on image for more info..

Click to purchase The Basement at amazon paperback and eBook (Kindle)

Click to purchase
The Basement at amazon
paperback and eBook (Kindle)