Widow's Endorphins: Fifty Shades of Pink: If Lipstick Could Talk

Widow's Endorphins: Fifty Shades of Pink: If Lipstick Could Talk: I miss being kissed.  Really kissed.  I get warm hugs and kisses all the time.  Just not THAT kind.  You don't have to read the Ka...

Fifty Shades of Pink: If Lipstick Could Talk

I miss being kissed.  Really kissed.  I get warm hugs and kisses all the time.  Just not THAT kind.  You don't have to read the Kama Sutra (which I think was written by an accountant, it is so filled with numbers), to know that there are as many different kinds of kisses, as there are shades of lipstick.  Widows get, and give the cheeks and forehead kind of kisses, with a firm, meaningful hug.  Anything else, wouldn't be appropriate.

Oh, for those passionate kisses!  Every woman deserves a man who will ruin her lipstick, not her mascara.  Isn't that the best line?   I miss my husband's lips pressed gently against mine.  I miss being held close for a long time.  Feeling a pink blush sweep across my face...feeling safe and protected in his arms.  Passion and trust, are essential to a loving, and intimate relationship.  

This is one of the most excrutiating, uncomfortable posts I've ever written. Vulnerable, is not my favourite state of being.  I am strong on authenticity - on being honest about this journey I share with widows around the world.  The truth is, the sensual nature of an intimate relationship is missing, both from my life, and the lives of other widows.  That's sad.

While I am blessed with great relationships with amazing men, who are loving, caring, encouraging and supportive, they're nearly all married, gay, half my age, or all of the above.  For the first time in the three and half years since my husband died, I am yearning for more.  That's scary.

Waking up to this new desire, is a little like being in a Disney nightmare, inwhich despite not having been kissed by Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty awakens to find she's surrounded by an alternate version of Snow White's Seven Dwarfs: Grumpy, Sleazy, Boring, Dim Wit, Milktoast, Obnoxious, and Misogynist.  That's horrifying. 

As the soft light of the afternoon falls on the roses, Andrea Bocelli sings, Mi baci piano ed io torno ad esistere - you kiss me slowly and I am alive again - lines of Italian verse in Ed Sheeran's song, Perfect.  It's just one of the music selections for this week's photo shoot on lipstick colours.  I love the energy of French singer, Zaz singing Je Veux, the angst of the sixties French singer, Francoise Hardy singing, Tous les Garcons et les Filles, and Leonard Cohen's Dance Me to the End of Love.  A friend suggested a title for the cover photo, Seal's song, Kiss From a Rose, which is...perfect.

I'd planned to shoot a collection of pink lipstick tubes and pink roses - something linear and graphic.  These billowy, ruffled, pink-tipped peach coloured roses, looked fabulous, so I tossed the original idea (I can do that) in favour of a sensual, playful, feminine, and Parisien look. 

I wrote the word Love, across pieces of paper in Wisteria Rose, and Luminous Pink Pearl lipstick.  The word Love, is beautiful to write by hand in pen.  It's sublime to write it in rich, creamy lipstick.

For two afternoons (one deeply overcast, the other lightly sunny), I joyfully rediscovered my ultra-feminine side, over and again, applying the Wisteria Rose and Luminous Pink Pearl to my lips, adding Lacquered Strawberry, coral Everbloom, and deep red Cherry Blossom, and kissing the colour and pattern off onto paper.  The lips take on the shape and pattern of finely veined leaves.  There's an art to kissing paper.  Getting just the right amount of lipstick, in just the right lip shape, takes a little practice.  You think I'm going to give you a craft tip?  I don't kiss and tell.  

It was exhilerating.  I laughed my way through the whole experience!  I highly recommend this as therapy for a broken heart...add a quick note to yourself on the paper, and mail it to yourself.  If those lipstick tubes could talk!  What a mess I made of my lipstick - and there were no mascara tears!

I leave you with laughter...

A little boy and his older sister were shopping for a gift for their mother.  As they explored the cosmetics department of a large store, the little boy became mezmerized by row upon row of lipstick colours.  He searched every row, and looking puzzled, called out to his sister, "hey, what size are Mum's lips?"


P.S.  After publishing this, a friend suggested Mary Chapin Carpenter's Passionate Kisses, would have been great background music for the photo shoot.  I listened.  Twice.  Does that make it a lingering passionate kiss?

Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Time Is A Gift

Widow's Endorphins: Time Is A Gift: "What time is it?"  It's the first thought that comes to mind every morning.  Time is ever present. From the moment of o...

Time Is A Gift

"What time is it?"  It's the first thought that comes to mind every morning.  Time is ever present. From the moment of our birth - measured in the hours of labour our mothers endured, and exact hour and minute of our arrival - 'til the hour of our death, time is right there walking alongside us, beckoning, hovering, carrying us away. 

I was listening to an "old" Ed Sheeran song, Thinking Out Loud, "darlin' I will be loving you 'til we're seventy".  I heard myself think out loud and laugh, "that far off, huh".  There was a time when seventy was a long way off.  Now that I am, as I tell everyone, Sweet 16... and dyslexic, seventy is just around the corner.

When I was five, there was a ponytailed girl visiting her grandparents up the lane.  I was fascinated by her.  She was thirteen!  I thought she was so sophisticated and grown up, reading magazines while laying on her stomach on the balcony, kicking one poised foot overhead.  I could hardly wait, until the day that I too would be a real teenager!  Time was beckoning me to hurry.

While I don't wish to go back that far, there are days when I would love to turn the clock back a few decades, giving me more time here on earth.  

  

Time is measureable, however, it exists on another immeasurable plane.  Major events in the distant past,  may feel as though they just happened yesterday.  Emotional memory is strong.  Details may be fog shrouded, and ancient history.  Time is fluid that way.

As a child - when a day would last forever - time was a concept that eluded me.  When my grandfather's health was beginning to fade, he and Dad went on a fishing trip to Vancouver Island.  I endlessly asked my grandmother, "when's Daddy coming home?"  We were in her back garden, when she pointed to their huge cherry tree.  "When the cherries turn dark red, they'll be home".  I was blessed to have a father who took time for the people in his life.  He died when I was 17.

It's been almost three and a half years since my husband died.  One of the first conversations we ever had, was about time:  the most precious commodity, a non-renewable resource.  He always had time for me.  The time he took every day to listen, and talk strengthened us.  Even when we lived in two separate cities, in two different provinces, he would phone every day...for three years!  If a friend or family member had a problem, he would spend hours with them, talking late into the night, helping them find clarity.  His gift to each of us, was his time.

For friends on transplant waiting lists, watching as their health pours through a metaphoric hourglass, or friends diagnosed with terminal illness, more time truly is a gift.  Each day of life is honoured. 

With age comes wisdom, and the knowledge that time is more valuable than gold.  As we grow older, the awareness that we don't have much time left on this earth, becomes less abstract, and more of a reality.  Both the quantity and quality of experiences and conversations with loved ones become all important.  Ever notice how much living retired people cram into a week?  Ever notice that many have given themselves permission to say "no thanks" to something they just don't want to spend time doing?  It's freeing.

Take time to smell the flowers!  It's more than an expression - it's a way of living, of being present in this gift of life.



Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incoporated.

 

  

Widow's Endorphins: Nowruz, Ranunculus and Frogs: It's the First Day ...

Widow's Endorphins: Nowruz, Ranunculus and Frogs: It's the First Day ...: March 20th - the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere, and the Persian New Year known as Nowruz .  Here in Toronto, Nowruz ...

Nowruz, Ranunculus and Frogs: It's the First Day of Spring!

March 20th - the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere, and the Persian New Year known as Nowruz.  Here in Toronto, Nowruz begins at 12:15pm Eastern Daylight time.  Just in time for lunch!

Nevermind the calendar, it's already Spring on the Canadian and US Westcoast, where crocuses and daffodils have been in bloom for weeks.  My friends have been posting pretty pink pictures of cherry, plum and peach blossoms, as well as rhododendrons, azaleas, and budding magnolias.  Here, in Eastern Canada, the Winter hardened, barren earth just lies there, staring bleakly at the sky.  Nothing, nuttin', rien, niete, nichego, nichts, or as the Persians say in Farsi, hichi!    

   

I'm a great one for bringing the mountain to Mohammed.  If there are no flowers outdoors, then, flowershop flowers will brighten the home!  One of my favourite Toronto florist shops, Florigens Design, always has the most beautiful ranunculus.  The flower with the ridiculous sounding name, is actually a buttercup - a big, showy buttercup.  

It looks both sophisticated and simple.  Hundreds of fine, delicately veined petals, give this flower the appearance of a David Austin rose.  In fact, ranunculus is also called a Spring rose.  It looks stunning in a bridal bouquet, or billowing from containers outside of Parisian flower shops, or even as a single stem, alone in a vase.  Ranunculus come in a crayon box of colours, from pure white, to butter cream, pale pink, deep pink, cherry red, merlot wine, bright orange, and saffron yellow.  In the language of flowers, ranunculus means charming.  It is always a joy to photograph.

These Tecolate Ranunculus, also known as Persian Ranunculus, have a Latin name.  Ranunculus is formed from rana, meaning frog, and unculus, the Latin for little.  In other words, the flower is named Little Frog.  In Spring, ranunculus are found growing alongside streams, where little frogs are also found.  I have my own theory about the frog referrence, that it has to do with the green centres of the flowers, which really do look like tiny tree frogs.

You won't find frogs as one of the seven items on the Persian New Year Haft-Seen (or Haft-Sin) table, however, you may sometimes find a goldfish bowl with live goldfish!  It represents new life.  Sadly, the goldfish don't always survive the celebrations.

The seven items which you will find at a Haft-Seen table, all begin with the letter S, and all have significance for the new year.  Sabzeh, is sprouted wheat grass, symbolizing rebirth and renewal.  Sometimes, hyacinth flowers, or, Sonbol are used in place of, or alongside wheat grass to symbolize Spring.  Senjed is the dried fruit of the lotus tree, but any dried fruit - especially dates and apricots - will be used to represent love.  Sib (or seeb) is a fresh apple for beauty and vitality.  Seer is garlic for medecine and taking care of your health.  Samanu is a sweet wheat germ pudding representing wealth and abundance.  Serkeh is vinegar, for the patience and wisdom that comes with age.  Sumac (or somaq) is the red ground spice made from berries of the sumac tree, representing the sunrise, and the dawn of a new day.  It signifies light, overcoming dark. 

There's a Persian legend of a young prince who always wore green and gold.  He sang day and night to a beautiful nymph, who, irritated and bored out of her mind with his neverending singing, turned him into - not a frog - but a ranunculus flower!  Which, in a sense is a little frog!  If you're wondering if kissing a ranunculus flower, will turn it into a handsome prince - I got hichi!

Happy Spring!  Happy Nowruz!

(Which is it?  Norooz, Norouz, or Nowruz?  All spellings appear on-line.  Nowruz was adopted by the United Nations in 2010.  The problem with this choice, is that it is not phonetically correct, since the word is not pronounced now-rooz, it is pronounced no-rooz.  The debate continues...)


Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Widow's Endorphins: Happy St. Patrick's Day!: Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Stephen Hawking, Pi and Cosmos

Widow's Endorphins: Stephen Hawking, Pi and Cosmos: By now you've heard that renowned theoretical physicist and cosmologist, Stephen Hawking died this morning, at his home in Cambr...

Stephen Hawking, Pi and Cosmos

By now you've heard that renowned theoretical physicist and cosmologist, Stephen Hawking died this morning, at his home in Cambridge, England.  He was born in Oxford, on January 8th, 1942, the 300th anniversary of the death of astronomer, Galileo.  The irony of the brilliant Cambridge University professor and author dying on March 14th , which is both Albert Einstein's birthday, and Pi Day, is not lost.  Hawking always had a great sense of humour!

Pi Day, or 𝝅 Day falls on the greatest of all geek days, 14th day of the 3rd month.  Pi is the ratio of the circumference of any circle to the diameter of that circle, and it is always 3.14.  In university campus cafeterias, college town diners, and boardrooms of upstart tech companies, pie is featured on today's menu.  

I would like to think that Hawking and Einstein, the two most revered scientists of my lifetime, are greeting each other, and sitting down along with Galileo, to a delicious pie, like the heavenly Peach and Blueberry Crumble which my friend Ailene baked for me.  Professor Hawking didn't believe in Heaven.  He did believe in heaven on earth...that this is the only life we have, and to live each day fully.

For someone who didn't believe in miracles, his life was a miracle.  Stricken with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), or Lou Gehrig's Disease at the age of 21, he was told he had only two years to live.  He survived more than five more decades, dying at the age of 76, surrounded by his family.  He had three children by his first wife, and three grandchildren. 

Unable to speak, his body contorted and paralyzed, he was entirely dependant on others, and technology for daily care, feeding, communicating, and transportation.  Yet, he published best-selling books, went on speaking tours, and continued research and mentoring.  He was an inspiration.

This morning, University of Cambridge posted this video in tribute to Professor Hawking...

https://youtu.be/ZrVVvXOIwQc

My tribute to Hawking is a field of Cosmos flowers...looking very much like a constellation of stars.

 

Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Mary, Mum and International Womens' Day

Widow's Endorphins: Mary, Mum and International Women's Day: International Women's Day, and my thoughts turn to my Mum, and the Virgin Mary - two of the most unlikely feminists!  My French Cana...

Mary, Mum and International Women's Day

International Women's Day, and my thoughts turn to my Mum, and the Virgin Mary - two of the most unlikely feminists!  My French Canadian mother had a statue of the Virgin on her dresser for as long as I can remember.  Her head has been glued back on, her plaster is chipped, she's lost layers of paint.  Even the serpent, being crushed at her feet, has been chipped away over time.  Yet, she is so precious to me, that she'd be saved in a fire!

A shy and gentle soul, my Mum had great inner strength.  At the height of the Womens' Liberation movement, I didn't see my homemaker Mum as the strong role model that she truly was.  When I was a young teenager, she had a near-fatal brain aneurism.  After spending all Summer in hospital, she came home blind. 

In the months that followed, she cooked our meals, and worked hard to do all the things she had done before.  One day, I arrived home from school, and my Grandmother was at the stove.  I asked her where Mum was, and I'll never forget her response.  "She's gone downtown.  She took the bus."

My blind mother took the bus to Kootenay Loop, and transferred to the Hastings Express, got off on a downtown Vancouver street, went shopping, turned around and came home - all on her own!  Jesus, Mary and Joseph!  Every time I think that I can't possibly do something, I think of her.

Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Festival of Colour

Widow's Endorphins: Festival of Colour: While much of Eastern Canada and the US woke up to a blanket of fresh snow today, people in India are blanketed with vibrantly coloure...

Festival of Colour

While much of Eastern Canada and the US woke up to a blanket of fresh snow today, people in India are blanketed with vibrantly coloured powder.  It's Holi - the Indian festival of colour!

All through the streets of India's largest cities, and smallest villages, crowds of people - their faces smeared with colour - are throwing red, pink, yellow, blue, purple and green powder at one another.  They toss water balloons too! 

 

Holi is a joyful, playful equal-opportunity street festival, inwhich women and men, young and old, poor and rich drench one another in coloured powders.  It's everywhere.  The air is thick with powder.  It's all part of the fun, getting your crisp white shirt covered in yellow and pink powder...and your hair dyed bright green!  

If you think Holi is inspired by Bollywood, think again.  Bollywood's raucus crowds, and riot of colour are pure Holi-wood.  Highly-choreographed Bollywood scenes are inspired by Holi.   

To read more about Holi, and find out how to make your own Holi powder, and shop for vibrantly coloured clothes, go to:

https://widowsendorphins.blogspot.ca/2017/03/holi-indias-festival-of-colour.html

Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.