Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 27

EASY CHEESY

Create with joy.

Give with kindness.

Expect nothing.

Stay starry eyed.

 

I may be to my neck in cheese and, as of now,

there might be a whole lot of gagging going on,

But since I went full fromage,

Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!

BABY LOVE

The curve of your tiny fingers,

Delicate nails

Crisp as baby shells.

Those inquisitive hands,

Twitching,

Searching for love.

Thank you for choosing me as your mama.

BLUE MOVES

Dawn shivers in dewdrops,

waiting for the timid lavender sky

To yawn, stretch and glow.

 

The tiniest snail cocks an antenna,

a blackbird wolf whistles.

And there was blue.

 

LES ORIGINES DU POLE DANCE

Ce soir, plutôt que de compter les moutons, mon esprit, curieusement, se demande si la danse autour du mât enrubanné fut le précurseur du pole dance.

 

N’importe quoi? Débile? Ok ok…

 

Attendez ! Ne partez pas tout de suite. Un groupe de neurones particulièrement inspirés et réputés, nichés dans le recoin gauche de mon cerveau, a proposé un argument qui mérite réflexion.

 

Imaginez, si vous le voulez bien, un enchevêtrement catastrophique de rubans lors d’une répétition pour un spectacle de mât enrubanné extrêmement complexe et hautement confidentiel. Imaginez que cette joyeuse pagaille devait être exécutée devant la cour d’un homme célèbre et quelque peu colérique, à savoir le roi Henry VIII. Un tel fiasco de nœuds, juste avant un événement aussi important, pousserait sans doute tous les participants à fuir vers l’Écosse, prêts à se jeter à travers les fameuses pierres d’Outlander, idéalement droit dans les bras de Jamie Fraser et compagnie !

 

C’est là qu’intervient Gwyneth, une fille élancée et déterminée du Lancashire. Gwyneth frotte ses mains sur son jupon pour les sécher, puis demande à l’infatigable Edwina (du Yorkshire, d’après un groupe de neurones plus récemment formés près de ma glande pinéale) de lui faire la courte échelle. Gwynth enroule alors ses longues jambes musclées et opalescentes autour du mât, trouve sa prise et, hop, la voilà qui grimpe.

 

Une fois au sommet, Gwynth se sécurise au mât avec le seul ruban libre disponible. De là, elle peut se détendre, se balançant doucement au-dessus de ses amies incrédules et grandement soulagées, tout en démêlant le nœud. Enfin, quand tout ondoie à nouveau librement dans la douce brise du Gloucestershire, elle glisse gracieusement vers la terre, exécutant quelques acrobaties en redescendant, juste pour le plaisir.

 

« Hmmm, voilà une idée qu’elle est bonne», pense Jenny, une jeune femme astucieuse, en jetant en arrière ses luxuriantes mèches châtain. Elle serre alors ses cuisses musclées et son puissant fessier sous sa jupe.

 

Un deux, un deux… testing testing…

 

La suite appartient à l’histoire (alternative ?!).

LAS ZOOMIES

My Spanish poetry debut. It was only a matter of time…

LAS ZOOMIES

Hay tiempo de sobra.

Ahora lo sé, habiendo recibido recientemente una caja hecha a mano llena de segundas oportunidades de un profesional en estirar el tiempo con credenciales fenomenales.

¡Desde entonces tengo el caso mas fabuloso de Zoomies!

 

Arriba arriba arriba!

LOADED

The current moodment

Feels as though

Every single word

Has the capacity to carry a double meaning.

We are entering the Moodment Movement.

May it pass smoothly, if you know what I’m sayin’…

THE ZOOMIES

 

There is plenty of time.

I know this now,

Having recently received

A hand-crafted box filled with second chances

from a professional time-stretcher

with phenomenal credentials.

 

Ever since, I have the most fabulous case of the Zoomies!

 

Arriba arriba arriba!!!

THE ORIGINS OF POLE DANCING

Instead of counting sheep tonight, for some reason my mind is engaged in establishing that Maypole dancing was the precursor to pole dancing.

 

Random? Bonkers? Okay okay…

 

Wait! Don’t buzz off yet. Because a group of particularly lit and reputable neurones in the far-left recesses of my pink brain (see “Could my Grey Matter be Pink”) have put forward an argument worth considering.

 

Imagine, if you will, catastrophic ribbon entanglement during a rehearsal for an extremely complex and highly confidential Maypole spectacular. Imagine that this yippedyskippedy was to be performed before the court of a famous and somewhat short tempered man, namely King Henry VIII. Surely a knotted fiasco before such an important event would immediately prompt all participants to skedaddle to Scotland and hurl themselves through the famous Outlander stones, ideally straight into the arms of Jamie Fraser and co.!

 

That’s where Guinevere, a lithe, determined lass from Lancashire comes in. Gwynne rubs her hands on her petticoat to dry them off, then orders stout old Edwina (from Yorkshire, according to a cluster of more recently formed neurones huddling close to my pineal gland) to give her a leg up. Gwynne then wraps her long, muscular, opalescent legs around the pole, finds her grip and, hey presto, up she goes.

 

Once she’s summited, Gwynne secures herself to the pole with the only loose ribbon available. From there, she’s able to relax, gently swinging above her incredulous, much relieved friends while she unravels the knot. Finally, when everything sways once again freely in the gentle Gloucestershire breeze, she slides gracefully back to earth, performing a series of acrobatic moves on the way down, just for fun.

 

“Hmmm, I think she’s onto something,” thinks Jenny, a smart cookie from the stable block, tossing her luxuriant chestnut locks. She clenches her strong upper thighs and mighty buttocks beneath her skirt.

 

Testing, testing.

 

The rest is (alternative?!) history.

Cesca xxx 

 

 

GO FIGURE

So pretty!!!

Today I figure

That my figure

Is the best figure

I’ve had in a long time.

Go figure!

Che bella figura che faccio!

TRULY HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Hello!

I feel incredibly joyful and grateful this year, because I honestly have not felt this great for…well, I don’t even know when I last felt this good. Destiny is a weird and wonderful thing: back in July, if Cedric hadn’t randomly run into my friend Leslie at his golf club in Bonmont, Switzerland, I would never have heard about Dr Santos in Barcelona. To be honest, I didn’t really harbour much hope, because my gastroenterologist in Geneva didn’t have anything more to offer me apart from immunosuppressants, and other doctors told me that there was no way a doctor in Spain would have an alternative solution.

But Dr Santos did. I waited two and a half months for an appointment, couldn’t even get to the appointment because I was too sick to travel, so we spoke via Skype, which was fine since he had already looked at the medical file I’d sent him, read my detailed email, (which to be honest is definitely not a given; how many times have I arrived for an appointment with a specialist to be asked what can I do for you, and have to use most of the allotted (short!I) time of the appointment explaining my symptoms) so we could just get straight into the small details of my symptoms. He suggested a different cortisone (I have collagenous colitis) which turned out to not be available in Switzerland or France. Two days after the Skype consultation I managed to fly to Barcelona, took the medicine the next morning, and I have been symptom free ever since.

Also, Dr Santos suspects I have another autoimmune disease (it seems it’s often the case with colitis) which would explain the constant aches and pains throughout my body. He prescribed a neurological medication, and my pain vanished within 48 hours! Gone! All of it!

It “only” took four years to find a doctor who listened to me, and knew how to help!

Never give up.

Love

Cesca

S’Agaro coastal path, Costa Brava, Spain

I air my skin,

Let it jiggle with joy,

Dip the new me in the sea

Twirl into a tutu of frothy waves,

Not in my birthday suit,

But simply on my birthday.

Happy Birthday to Me!