jueves, 30 de enero de 2014
miércoles, 22 de enero de 2014
EN EL MONTE ATHOS HUELE A SANTIDAD
An Ineffable Fragrance
It is impossible to describe how exquisite and noble are the podvizhniki![1] These people—although they bear the traces of harsh struggles, although their bodies are so withered and emaciated—have a fragrance and grace imprinted on their wondrous souls.
The Monastery of Simonopetra, Mt. Athos. Photo: Travis Dove / travisdove.com
1976. The month of August—July 22 Old Style. The Altar Feast (Panegyr) of St. Mary Magdalene in Simonopetra. How they love this saint in her monastery! Her left hand is kept here—her wrist, palm, and fingers—with the skin and tendons. Its temperature holds steadily at 98.6 °F/37° C—proof that this is the hand of a living witness of the Resurrected Christ, living proof of the fact that “death hath no more dominion over” her, either (Rom. 6:9).
At the All-Night Vigil[2], they showed me a stasidion[3] practically in the center. Next to me there was a grey-haired little starets.[4] He stood as straight as a candle, without stirring. During the course of the service he weakened—he was obviously tired. Most likely, he was sleeping. But not relaxed as people usually sleep. His state was distinct and interesting: his head was leaning on his hand, his eyes almost shut. From time to time you could hear him snore a little, gently and peacefully. But every time the singers would make a mistake, he would come into action and without delay correct it. And then return to … his rest. “The body sleeps out of nature’s need, but his heart keeps awake out of its great love.” And truly, his mind keeps vigil. This man, it seems, lives in another world.
We came to the exapostilarion.[5] All the fathers stood, took off their skufias,[6] and bowed low when the serving priest performed the litany over the relics of the great saint and protectress of the monastery, which were lying on a silver tray. Soon the veneration began—I was stunned… I watched what the others did, and I felt that I wasn’t with them. I tried to understand what to do and how to do it correctly, but I couldn’t touch the secret. Everyone around me, I felt, was experiencing an event that I had no idea about. The choir intensified the celebration. The monks showed by their whole appearance that they were experiencing something the likes of which I could not perceive. The only thing that I was able to do was to follow what was going on—superficially and with curiosity. Soon the starets standing next to me left his place and goes in his turn up to the relics. Making three prostrations, he kissed them, was anointed by the priest, and with deep emotion he returned to his stasidion.
“You go, too,” he says to me, “don’t be shy—today the Saint is fragrant. Receive some of her grace.”
I did what he said and went up to the relics. This is what, apart from everything else, the others had done, too. But my doubts stayed with me. I didn’t particularly believe in all this. I went up in a reverie. And I was astonished by the fragrance. I had an insatiable desire to confirm the statement of this fact from an investigative point of view and to venerate the relics again. But I felt awkward—it was an inappropriate time for experiments! I returned to my place—physically—but mentally I stayed with the Saint. My questions multiplied, but my faith did not increase. It was the “sign” that I had been asking for, but it wasn’t the “sign” that I needed. I couldn’t believe in it, but again, I couldn’t imagine that the monks were lying. They had such pure countenances, and they experienced what was going on without reasoning or arguments. I had no reason to suspect them of lying.
![[Picture of hieromonk in light-filled church] Photo: Travis Dove / travisdove.com](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_s450Fr3qfHXdZqV3-Fqsv5weWoTslmbNKD_8VBG05jE4W4rfR3x15HRjd60hT59v6DR1Vjyw5_4SDd-kBTYQY1NqeTcHXjDsqhYPXIEsS7jwfncRiWBTwNIV3hfwlFVnL__-8okT_suQymytXfWw=s0-d)
[Picture of hieromonk in light-filled church] Photo: Travis Dove / travisdove.com
“Geronda[7], how does this happen?” I asked. “Maybe out of piety the fathers sprinkled a little perfume? Or are the relics themselves fragrant?”
“Here reverence is ruined as soon as you sprinkle perfume. Reverence is increased when you receive the ineffable fragrance in simplicity. The Holy Mountain is full of such occurrences.”
“What does 'ineffable fragrance' mean?”
“If we sprinkled a little perfume from a perfume store, then it would be “fragrance.” Now, when we don’t sprinkle anything but the fragrance pours out all by itself, that is called 'ineffable fragrance'.
I bowed and kissed his hand. He himself also was fragrant, as if he had been handling incense. The all-night vigil continued—it lasted twelve hours.
A monk whom I knew came up to me:
“Did you get a blessing from Elder Arsenios?”
“Who is that?” I asked, not having any idea who he was referring to.
“The little old man who was standing next to you.”
“The little old man who was sleeping next to me,” I said to myself.
“He has the 'gift of not washing', added the monk. “It has already been ten years since he has washed his face and he is fragrant all over. He is as pure as a tear. He lives in Kalamitse, in a cell alone, an hour and a half walk from here. Run, before he leaves!”
I did not catch up with him. He had withdrawn to his cell before the beginning of the festive trapeza. He was filled with the Divine service. He didn't need food or words in order to fill his soul. He stood, sat, drifted off for twelve hours, and still every second breathed in the sweetness of the all-night vigil. He hath chosen the good part, which will not be taken away from him (Luke 10:42).
From: A Still Small Voice by Metropolitan Nicholas of Mesogaia and Lavreotiki, Phoni avras leptis, Athens 2006, pp. 139–144. Translated from the Russian version on Pravoslavie.ru.
The Monastery of Simonopetra, Mt. Athos. Photo: Travis Dove / travisdove.com1976. The month of August—July 22 Old Style. The Altar Feast (Panegyr) of St. Mary Magdalene in Simonopetra. How they love this saint in her monastery! Her left hand is kept here—her wrist, palm, and fingers—with the skin and tendons. Its temperature holds steadily at 98.6 °F/37° C—proof that this is the hand of a living witness of the Resurrected Christ, living proof of the fact that “death hath no more dominion over” her, either (Rom. 6:9).
At the All-Night Vigil[2], they showed me a stasidion[3] practically in the center. Next to me there was a grey-haired little starets.[4] He stood as straight as a candle, without stirring. During the course of the service he weakened—he was obviously tired. Most likely, he was sleeping. But not relaxed as people usually sleep. His state was distinct and interesting: his head was leaning on his hand, his eyes almost shut. From time to time you could hear him snore a little, gently and peacefully. But every time the singers would make a mistake, he would come into action and without delay correct it. And then return to … his rest. “The body sleeps out of nature’s need, but his heart keeps awake out of its great love.” And truly, his mind keeps vigil. This man, it seems, lives in another world.
We came to the exapostilarion.[5] All the fathers stood, took off their skufias,[6] and bowed low when the serving priest performed the litany over the relics of the great saint and protectress of the monastery, which were lying on a silver tray. Soon the veneration began—I was stunned… I watched what the others did, and I felt that I wasn’t with them. I tried to understand what to do and how to do it correctly, but I couldn’t touch the secret. Everyone around me, I felt, was experiencing an event that I had no idea about. The choir intensified the celebration. The monks showed by their whole appearance that they were experiencing something the likes of which I could not perceive. The only thing that I was able to do was to follow what was going on—superficially and with curiosity. Soon the starets standing next to me left his place and goes in his turn up to the relics. Making three prostrations, he kissed them, was anointed by the priest, and with deep emotion he returned to his stasidion.
“You go, too,” he says to me, “don’t be shy—today the Saint is fragrant. Receive some of her grace.”
I did what he said and went up to the relics. This is what, apart from everything else, the others had done, too. But my doubts stayed with me. I didn’t particularly believe in all this. I went up in a reverie. And I was astonished by the fragrance. I had an insatiable desire to confirm the statement of this fact from an investigative point of view and to venerate the relics again. But I felt awkward—it was an inappropriate time for experiments! I returned to my place—physically—but mentally I stayed with the Saint. My questions multiplied, but my faith did not increase. It was the “sign” that I had been asking for, but it wasn’t the “sign” that I needed. I couldn’t believe in it, but again, I couldn’t imagine that the monks were lying. They had such pure countenances, and they experienced what was going on without reasoning or arguments. I had no reason to suspect them of lying.
[Picture of hieromonk in light-filled church] Photo: Travis Dove / travisdove.com“Geronda[7], how does this happen?” I asked. “Maybe out of piety the fathers sprinkled a little perfume? Or are the relics themselves fragrant?”
“Here reverence is ruined as soon as you sprinkle perfume. Reverence is increased when you receive the ineffable fragrance in simplicity. The Holy Mountain is full of such occurrences.”
“What does 'ineffable fragrance' mean?”
“If we sprinkled a little perfume from a perfume store, then it would be “fragrance.” Now, when we don’t sprinkle anything but the fragrance pours out all by itself, that is called 'ineffable fragrance'.
I bowed and kissed his hand. He himself also was fragrant, as if he had been handling incense. The all-night vigil continued—it lasted twelve hours.
A monk whom I knew came up to me:
“Did you get a blessing from Elder Arsenios?”
“Who is that?” I asked, not having any idea who he was referring to.
“The little old man who was standing next to you.”
“The little old man who was sleeping next to me,” I said to myself.
“He has the 'gift of not washing', added the monk. “It has already been ten years since he has washed his face and he is fragrant all over. He is as pure as a tear. He lives in Kalamitse, in a cell alone, an hour and a half walk from here. Run, before he leaves!”
I did not catch up with him. He had withdrawn to his cell before the beginning of the festive trapeza. He was filled with the Divine service. He didn't need food or words in order to fill his soul. He stood, sat, drifted off for twelve hours, and still every second breathed in the sweetness of the all-night vigil. He hath chosen the good part, which will not be taken away from him (Luke 10:42).
From: A Still Small Voice by Metropolitan Nicholas of Mesogaia and Lavreotiki, Phoni avras leptis, Athens 2006, pp. 139–144. Translated from the Russian version on Pravoslavie.ru.
22 / 01 / 2014
[1] Podvizhnik: a “spiritual athlete,” one who struggles spiritually, takes on podvigs. Podvig – a difficult spiritual task taken on voluntarily.—Trans.
[2] Agrypnia: the very long Divine service celebrated with great solemnity on Athos on Sundays, great feasts and feasts of the saints in whose honor churches are named, and likewise on days commemorating particularly revered saints.
[3] Stasidion: in Orthodox monasteries, a special wooden chair with high armrests and a seat that can be lifted up out of the way, so that a monk can stand up during the long vigils while being able to rest his arms on the armrests. When it is allowed or necessary out of weakness, the seat may be folded down so he may sit. —Trans.
[4] starets (here, “starchik”, an affectionate form): an elder, usually monastic, who through long experience, obedience, spiritual struggles, love and humility is given special spiritual gifts and to whom others come for spiritual guidance. —Trans.
[5] The Dismissal Hymn, the troparion that follows the Canon at Matins, near the end of the service. Sometimes called svetilen/photogogikon, because it sings of Christ the Light of the world. It is connected with the Matins Gospel.
[6] Skufia: priest’s or monastic’s hat.
[7] Geronda: Greek for “elder” or “starets.”
[2] Agrypnia: the very long Divine service celebrated with great solemnity on Athos on Sundays, great feasts and feasts of the saints in whose honor churches are named, and likewise on days commemorating particularly revered saints.
[3] Stasidion: in Orthodox monasteries, a special wooden chair with high armrests and a seat that can be lifted up out of the way, so that a monk can stand up during the long vigils while being able to rest his arms on the armrests. When it is allowed or necessary out of weakness, the seat may be folded down so he may sit. —Trans.
[4] starets (here, “starchik”, an affectionate form): an elder, usually monastic, who through long experience, obedience, spiritual struggles, love and humility is given special spiritual gifts and to whom others come for spiritual guidance. —Trans.
[5] The Dismissal Hymn, the troparion that follows the Canon at Matins, near the end of the service. Sometimes called svetilen/photogogikon, because it sings of Christ the Light of the world. It is connected with the Matins Gospel.
[6] Skufia: priest’s or monastic’s hat.
[7] Geronda: Greek for “elder” or “starets.”
martes, 21 de enero de 2014
lunes, 20 de enero de 2014
un guardia civil cuenta en este artículo xómo tuvo que ir al funeral de muchos compañeros en Vascongadas. LOS TERRORISTAS SON CHACALES COBARDES QUE ASESINAN POR LA ESPALDA. HABRÍA QUE APLICARLES LA LEY DE FUGAS COMO HACE PUTIN
Me da asco
20.01.2014 | 09:17
AMADOR PÉREZ VIÑUELA El día del mes de mayo de 1978 que me incorporé al puesto de la Guardia Civil de Olagüe en Navarra, a veinte kilómetros de Pamplona, sobre las diez de la noche, la banda de asesinos de ETA le aplicaron los derechos humanos a una patrulla de compañeros en una vía de circunvalación de la citada ciudad, la bomba reventó a dos y al tercero, después de numerosas intervenciones, le quedó una pierna más corta que la otra no sé cuántos centímetros. Al día siguiente hubo una manifestación en Pamplona de apoyo a los asesinos y el subteniente, mi jefe de línea, Saverri Chaverri, con ocho apellidos navarros, que se había camuflado en la manifestación, alguien lo conoció y, también le aplicó los derechos humanos con un puñal por la espalda, al tercer día de mi incorporación asistí a su funeral.
Como he empezado por casa solo voy a referirme a los de alrededor del puesto de mi destino. La línea, una unidad de mando inmediatamente superior al puesto, estaba en Villava, le aplicaron los derechos humanos dos veces, eso sí, a distancia como la bomba, que por error, colocaron en la fachada de la casa de al lado y detonaron desde el otro lado del río Arga, y una granada que lanzaron desde un cerro próximo. Los puestos limítrofes, Berriozar y Zubiri, también fueron objetivos de los derechos humanos de ETA aplicados con granadas explosivas.
Durante los dos años siguientes tuve la sensación de que había ganado mi «soldada» por asistir a funerales de compañeros. Años después le siguieron aplicando los derechos humanos a Ortega Lara en un zulo, con una técnica aprendida de los tupamaros uruguayos, y a los industriales vascos que se negaban a ser extorsionados por la banda de asesinos etarras les hacían un agujero en las rodillas con un taladro y los dejaban tirados en una cuneta. Esta era la manera que tenía el IRA para aplicar los derechos humanos a los que se mostraban renuentes a cumplir la doctrina nacionalista. En el camino quedaron las piernas de Irene Villa, el cuerpo destrozado del niño de dos años Fabio Moreno, hijo de un guardia civil de Zaragoza. A Miguel Ángel Blanco, con las manos atadas a la espalda en un descampado de Lasarte-Oria, le dispararon en la nuca los derechos humanos. La lista se prolonga hasta el millar y de los lesionados, alguno de mi pueblo, supongo que por «daños colaterales» también por la administración de los derechos humanos, hemos perdido la cuenta.
Estos días el presidente de PNV reprochaba al Gobierno de España que no le aplicara a los presos etarras los derechos humanos. Me da asco
Como he empezado por casa solo voy a referirme a los de alrededor del puesto de mi destino. La línea, una unidad de mando inmediatamente superior al puesto, estaba en Villava, le aplicaron los derechos humanos dos veces, eso sí, a distancia como la bomba, que por error, colocaron en la fachada de la casa de al lado y detonaron desde el otro lado del río Arga, y una granada que lanzaron desde un cerro próximo. Los puestos limítrofes, Berriozar y Zubiri, también fueron objetivos de los derechos humanos de ETA aplicados con granadas explosivas.
Durante los dos años siguientes tuve la sensación de que había ganado mi «soldada» por asistir a funerales de compañeros. Años después le siguieron aplicando los derechos humanos a Ortega Lara en un zulo, con una técnica aprendida de los tupamaros uruguayos, y a los industriales vascos que se negaban a ser extorsionados por la banda de asesinos etarras les hacían un agujero en las rodillas con un taladro y los dejaban tirados en una cuneta. Esta era la manera que tenía el IRA para aplicar los derechos humanos a los que se mostraban renuentes a cumplir la doctrina nacionalista. En el camino quedaron las piernas de Irene Villa, el cuerpo destrozado del niño de dos años Fabio Moreno, hijo de un guardia civil de Zaragoza. A Miguel Ángel Blanco, con las manos atadas a la espalda en un descampado de Lasarte-Oria, le dispararon en la nuca los derechos humanos. La lista se prolonga hasta el millar y de los lesionados, alguno de mi pueblo, supongo que por «daños colaterales» también por la administración de los derechos humanos, hemos perdido la cuenta.
Estos días el presidente de PNV reprochaba al Gobierno de España que no le aplicara a los presos etarras los derechos humanos. Me da asco
ESPAÑA HONRA AL GLORIOSO SAN ANTÓN PATRÓN DE LOS CRISTIANOS VIEJOS - NO SE ADMITEN MOROS NI JUDIOS Y LOS QUE NO COMEN CARNE DE CERDO-AL GLORIOSO SAN ANTÓN
he aquí esta croniquilla de la celebración de la fiesta del glorioso san Antonio Abad en una localidad castellana
Loas al «glorioso» san Antón
Monfarracinos honra al patrón de los animales y repasa aconteceres del año de la mano de dos quintos
20.01.2014 | 11:57
I. G. «Oh glorioso san Antón/ venimos aquí los quintos,/ a echarte la "Relación"/ en nuestro Monfarracinos./ Como somos educados,/ y también muy buenos chicos,/ vamos a contar los hechos/ que en el pueblo han sucedido». Así se presentaron los quintos Javier Esteban y Beatriz Calzada ante la imagen de san Antonio Abad para, con el permiso del cura y el alcalde, relatar con ingenio, agudeza y «algo de guasa», los avatares y aconteceres del año.
En un luminoso pero frío día invernal, los vecinos de Monfarracinos se concentraron a las puertas de la iglesia de San Martín de Tours para celebrar la fiesta del patrón de los animales, una tradición muy arraigada en el pueblo, aunque se ha relanzado de la mano de la asociación «Monterracinos».
Las rimas, elaboradas por Sarvelio Villar, provocaron risas y evocaron recuerdos de un año que en el pueblo tuvo sus momentos de gracia y anécdotas, como ocurrió con la llegada de las cotorras argentinas; noticias positivas como la elección de Monfarracinos como sede del CRA. Pero también vivió tragedias como el accidente mortal de un trabajador o una intoxicación de tres vecinas que, por fortuna, quedó en un susto.
Todo ello fue relatado por Javier y Beatriz, esta última vestida con el traje típico y lomos de un burro. Como es santo y seña de esta fiesta, el párroco realizó la bendición de animales y una vez finalizada la misa tuvo lugar la subasta de ofrendas y dones elaborados por los vecinos durante la víspera; roscas, licores, conservas, dulces y animales. Según se apunta desde «Monterracinos», «la celebración de la misa, la procesión y la subasta han perdurado hasta nuestros días, gracias a la parroquia y a los vecinos que han mantenido vivas dichas costumbres, contribuyendo al sostenimiento de la Iglesia local dado que la recaudación obtenida de la subasta se destina al mantenimiento de la parroquia».
En un luminoso pero frío día invernal, los vecinos de Monfarracinos se concentraron a las puertas de la iglesia de San Martín de Tours para celebrar la fiesta del patrón de los animales, una tradición muy arraigada en el pueblo, aunque se ha relanzado de la mano de la asociación «Monterracinos».
Las rimas, elaboradas por Sarvelio Villar, provocaron risas y evocaron recuerdos de un año que en el pueblo tuvo sus momentos de gracia y anécdotas, como ocurrió con la llegada de las cotorras argentinas; noticias positivas como la elección de Monfarracinos como sede del CRA. Pero también vivió tragedias como el accidente mortal de un trabajador o una intoxicación de tres vecinas que, por fortuna, quedó en un susto.
Todo ello fue relatado por Javier y Beatriz, esta última vestida con el traje típico y lomos de un burro. Como es santo y seña de esta fiesta, el párroco realizó la bendición de animales y una vez finalizada la misa tuvo lugar la subasta de ofrendas y dones elaborados por los vecinos durante la víspera; roscas, licores, conservas, dulces y animales. Según se apunta desde «Monterracinos», «la celebración de la misa, la procesión y la subasta han perdurado hasta nuestros días, gracias a la parroquia y a los vecinos que han mantenido vivas dichas costumbres, contribuyendo al sostenimiento de la Iglesia local dado que la recaudación obtenida de la subasta se destina al mantenimiento de la parroquia».
AUTO DE FE EN TOLEDO.YENDO DE "PREGONAO" POR ZOCODOVER. UNA HISTORIA QUE ME INSPIRÓ UN CUADRO DEL GRECO
PESADILLA EN TOLEDO ENTRE BOBOS Y BOLOS ANDA EL JUEGO
Se nos hizo de noche y vimos al Hombre del Saco al cruzar el Tajo y allá por el puente de Alcántara se nos cruzó el Ojo Saltones un judío que no sabe pronunciar las erres y habla de garganta. Tercera autoridad en estas mansardas. Se me vino a las mentes la mera efigie de don Opas que iba pregonando calles arriba hasta entrar en la misma plaza de Zocodover paso a la Inquisición. Me subieron en un asnillo y cabalgando cara atrás cubierto el rostro con una coroza cual reo del Santo Oficio y como los penitentes capuchones que van detrás del paso en Viernes Santo. Dos alguaciles infames y mal encarados cutían mis espaldas con golpes de rebenque. Yo maldecía mi suerte y me acordaba de la madre que me parió. Desdichada hora en la hora que nací. ¿Qué mal fice? Preguntaba yo a mis esbirros y ellos en vez de contestar descargaban más fustazos sobre mi cuerpo dolorido. Quieto ahí tú, mostagán, que yo te vamos a enseñar a comportarte, tente derecho y no retruques. Pues vaya-dije yo- pero que mal hice y al fin uno de los corchetes leyó sentencia y dijo que iba al palo por pensar por mi cuenta. ¿Es que escribir es un delito? Sí lo es. Un diacono muy alto y con cara de sátiro al que yo había visto merodear por los puticlubs de la región e iba a rumanas los sábados noche farfulló un responso en inglés. Ya no cantaban en latín sino inglés, la nueva mingua franca los nuevos inquisidores. No se dirigían a la Virgen tiernas plegarias. En lugar de eso invocaban a la Democracia y el nombre de Jesucristo había desaparecido de los anales para dar paso al dios del Consenso. Los obispos y hasta el Papa proclamaron que de allí en adelante sólo había que creer en el Holocausto, como única verdad, aserto e incontrovertible. Todo lo demás eran leyendas, mitos, consejas evangélicas de las que cuentan las viejas al amor del fuego.
La cosa me parecía increíble pues se me hacía duro pensar que con tanta fuerza hubiera calado en el corazón de las gentes la más recia y horrible de la apostasía pero reparé en el hecho de que estaba en la provincia del Bolo, la tierra de los grandes tornadizos y de los conversos. Habían vuelto los rabinos y estos llamaron a los ulemas y en los burdeles los malandrines y los macarras ponían a sus coimas mirando para Toledo, la Jerusalén del Oeste, la nueva Meca de los pactos y los consensos.
En la resurrección no creía ninguno y como no había vida eterna los directores espirituales aconsejaban a sus confesadas y a sus pupilos que lo único que importa es lo de acá abajo. Que se olvidaran de que eran polvo y de las palabras del cura los miércoles de ceniza. Había que hacer más caso al jueves de Comadres y vivir como si fuese todo el tiempo martes lardero. El lunes Corvillo para después. Toda nuestra vida es carnaval, chaval. Y dános y danos. A ti sí que te voy yo a dar. Lo importante es lo de acá abajo.
De lo que haya allí nada sabemos. Lo cual que lo mejor cuadra es la regla de los babilonios comamos y bebamos que mañana moriremos. Muy democráticamente por supuesto. La muerte es el gran rodillo democrático les recordaba yo a mis verdugos aquel jueves de comadres durante mi pesadilla. La víspera había sido miércoles de ceniza, la antevíspera martes lardero que sigue al lunes corvillo. Popping Eyes no dejaba de mirarme. Una pena que tuviera las manos atadas y no pudiera agarrar un morrillo y esputárselo en la calva a aquel infame el que consumó la gran felonía el que cerró las puertas de las catedrales y devolvió la llave a los nuevos invasores para que instaurasen allí sus lugares de rezo mayormente mezquitas y sinagogas cuando no logias donde organizar sus tenidas y conventículos. Traté de beberme mis furias mientras cabalgaba en aquel burro prieto que trotaba por la cuesta entre las miradas airadas de la chusma que decían cosas muy feas.
Acerté a ver entre las turbas a una señora que dicen la presidenta y se ella se dice a sí mismo Omnipresencia porque está en todos los saraos y conmemoraciones chupando cámara que tú no veas. Muy finolis y repeinada pero con una lengua como un carretero. Muevan ustedes el culo hijos de la gran puta. Tenía mucho cabreo porque quiso ser reina y no lo es hasta la fecha. Era una mujer muy deslenguada pero bien calzada de coturnos y vestida a la última porque encarga sus atuendos a Paris y es toda ella una marca pero Dios mío qué lengua tenía la señora. Ella me puso de hijoputa para arriba.
No salía de mi asombro pero un cirineo que se ofreció para aliviar mis suplicios y me tenía al burro del ramal un alma de dios un buen samaritano me dijo no se asuste su señoría ahora todas las hijas de familia hablan así hoy por hoy maxime las que otrora fueron chicas de derecha. Y mira que fueron educadas con monjas y toda su vida fueron muy de derechas pero sacaron los pies de las alforjas y juran beben y fornican peor que zapateros. Para mi desesperanza la presidenta era la que con más vigor decía crucificadle, crucifícale. Lo que exaltó a la multitud y llovieron sobre mi rostro toda suerte de injurias, un par de cantazos y algún que otro gargajo. Échale pan que mañana pía.
Y no se lo tenga en cuenta vuestra merced dijo mi cirineo que también subía el hombre compungido por las pinas y estrechas callejas de la ciudad de Carlos Quinto pero en la fachada del alcázar ya no había águila bicefala. En san Juan de los Reyes arrancaron las cadenas de las Navas de Tolosa y se las devolvieron al rey de Marruecos echando por tierra el lábaro y enseña de la unidad de los reyes católicos, el tanto monta monta tanto Isabel como Fernando, nuestro emblema de la unidad nacional.
La saña deletérea y la clastomanía irreductible de los tornadizos y pedisécuos del Ojo Saltones encontraron su paroxismo en el furor con que echaron debajo de los frontispicios de tan histórico lugar el yugo y las flechas. Se dijo de ahora en adelante ni yugos ni flechas ni leches porque no sé pa qué queremos los españoles el yugo de la labor si aquí nadie pega golpe ni flechas del poderío pues andamos nostálgicos e indefensos. Café para todos.
Se desuncieron las Españas en una amalgama de taifas, autonomías golfas y trinconas donde toda corrupción y prevaricación tuvo asiento, y de cantones y la patria es ya indefensa y sin ejército hasta tal punto que ésta se convirtió en una casa del tócame roque con sucesos tan lamentables como el de los paracaidistas ingleses de maniobras que entraban borrachos en una taberna de Cádiz o en Lanzarote y se liaban a golpes con los pobres españolitos. Los soldados de Su Graciosa Majestad apaleaban a los jueces y sodomizaban impunemente a los números de la Benemerita que iban a deternerlos sin que el gobierno de Madrid osara protestar porque los del FO eran los amos y aquí ya todos hablamos inglés, tomamos el té de las cinco y entonamos el dios salve a la reina, al menos es lo que señalan los poderes fácticos y toda esa tomiza de anglocabrones americanoides desnaturalizados que han renunciado a su historia y a su lengua como el Big Popping Eyes (Ojos Saltones). Átame esa mosca por el rabo. ¿Quien pone el cascabel al gato? Moratinos estaba demasiado ocupado con meter al turco en Europa. Hacía lo que le dijeran siempre los judíos y sus amos de Washington en este país: el contubernio con el sarraceno. Escupían contra la cruz y eso les hacía sentirse fuertes. Ojos Saltones, defensor del aborto, era de comunión diaria pero dicen que se guardaba las hostias en la bocamanga y luego las echaba a un caldero de agua hirviendo y las profanaba. La actualidad se asemejaba a una gran tenida de masones. Cundía la blasfemia y el desencanto. También don Opas era de la raza maldita y tenía el mismo mirar de los ojos salones.
Sin flechas del poderío nos convertimos en la risa de las naciones, campo de Agramante de la emigración. Llegaban en manada a nuestras costas y los españoles de bien tenían que agachar la cabeza, besar el látigo, adorar al dios del Consenso. Paciencia y resignación. Somos extranjeros en nuestro propio país. Tendremos que emigrar de nuestra patria otra vez los buenos españoles
La avilantez de los gobernantes como el execrable embono de los Ojos Saltones que por lo visto era un socialista de padre falangista, un cacique para más señas, de apellido infame. San Homobono era el patrón de los sastres y él era un alfayate, un malabarista de la política que no daba puntada sin hilo. Nada por aquí, nada por allá. Su padre fue gobernador civil y juró los Principios del Movimiento, y tuvo un tío alcalde pero donde dije digo, digo Diego, chiquitos, y esa sí que es gorda. ¿Adonde vamos? Al desastre, según parece pero dicen que sarna con gusto no pica.
En la plaza de Zocodover estaba preparado el tabladillo o picota donde harían con mis pobres huesos lo que corresponde. Había un poste rodeado de retama, el balago de arder, estaba la yesca preparada. Iban a quemar a un cristiano recalcitrante de herejía democrática pero aunque me maten o daré nunca mi brazo a torcer y había que decirle al Ojos Saltones a sus jodíos morros que no era más que un jodío bolo.
Las gentes que se habían vuelto morbosas e insensibles a los males de su vecino, de tanta tele basura como se había comido sus ojos y roído su alma por culpa de las quintanillas y anarosas quintanas, marilós, las reinas de las mañanas y las princesas del pueblo y de ver a todas las horas al presentador de la cabeza grande y los pies planos en soporíferos programas que duraban doce horas, mientras los torticeros manijeros zurcían mentiras a todas horas y no paraban de hablar de la crisis, predicando al pueblo como si fueran ovejas modorras, metiéndoles el miedo en el cuerpo, contemplaban con deleite el espectáculo y se decían unos a otros éste va a arder bien.
El rabino de la Sinagoga del Tránsito Un sacristán del mismo templo trajo eslabón y pedernal e hizo fuego y aplicando tea y prendió la lumbre. A redoble de tambor, un pregonero proclamaba:
-Cristianos a enforzar.
-Hijoputa…Hijoputa. Eres un pregonao
Doña Esperanza para mi desespero se encontraba en el cupo de los que contra mi hicieron causa y allí estaba entre el populacho desgañitándose contra mi persona. Tampoco faltaba la Bibliotecaria de Logroño, una tal doña Planchas Planchitas y con el nombre de Carmina bautizada mas luego hizo renuncio y recobró el de Sara, su primigenio. Ella también se metió con mi alcurnia. Aunque cambió de credo, esa señora como escritora será siempre mala. Entró en contubernios con don Arbolí, otra moneda falsa.
No me quedaba más remedio que admitir la culpa por la que se me condenaba y aceptar mi condición de caganidos. Yo no era más que un “pregonao”.
En un relámpago ardió todo mi cuerpo. Gracias a Dios pues grande era mi fe no flaquee en el tormento porque siendo de la raza ibérica y mi padre aragonés sentí pena de la multitud dirigida por aquel Anás de los ojos protuberantes sudoroso y vaporoso, tercera autoridad del Estado, que no pronuncia las erres con las sietes señas del hijoputa metido a politiquero siendo su distintivo principal la barba en parroquias y los muchos sudorosos que canta todo su cuerpo que no hay quien se le acerque cuando se sienta en su estrado presidencial en el congreso. Arrimaron fuego pero en lugar de llorar me dieron ganas de reír y contumaz igual que don Rodrigo me puse para mi último trance en el pináculo del cachondeo. Pude desligarme de las esposas que me maniataban y, libre de manos, llevándomelas a los genitales exclamé:
- Me la chupáis todos vosotros. Vosotros me la chupais en cuadrilla y al de por junto, aunque muera mártir. El que se sienta en el tribunal no es más que un judío bolo y se lo digo a sus jodidos morros
Y, haciendo las señas del macho cabrío expiré, mártir de la causa. Estoy seguro de que mi nombre enseguida ingresó en la nómina de los santos y mi alma voló derechita al cielo después de haber dado testimonio de Cristo y amado a mi patria desde aquella hoguera de la plaza de Zocodover gobernada por aquel sanedrín toledano encabezado por un felón de los Ojos Saltones como gran sacerdote. Subí a la gloria chutándomela con todos mis enemigos sobre la planta de mis pies. Había ollado la cabeza del dragón en Zocodover. Fue de esta manera gloriosa y terne en mis convicciones como hjice la jera precisamente el día que comenzaba la Cuaresma y las ciudades celebraban el entierro de la sardina
domingo, 19 de enero de 2014
una monja salvadreña en un convento de Roma da a luz a un niño al que llamará Frncisco en honor del Papa
The 33-year-old woman, a nun with the order of the Little Disciples of Jesus, stunned her mother superior and local church chiefs after giving birth last week to a baby boy which she has called Francis, in honour of the current Pope.
Sister Roxana initially claimed to have no idea that she was pregnant and thought her labour pains were 'stomach cramps' when an ambulance rushed her to hospital in severe pain after being called by fellow nuns when she collapsed at her nunnery.
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Her picture was published in the Italian daily newspaper Corriere Della Sera, who have carried out an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the birth of 9lb Francis and have spoken to the the social worker in the case.
It shows Sister Roxana, who is currently in the first floor maternity unit at the San Camillo de Lellis hospital in Rieti, 50 miles north of Rome, as she took her vows and became a nun in the order last September.
She told her social worker Anna Fontanella:'I am so happy. I feel more of a mother than a nun, I think that's obvious. I decided to call him Francis in honour of our wonderful south American Pope. I do not feel of guilt. I will be keeping him and bringing him up.
'He is a gift from God. I am little worried about all the publicity, not only in Italy but in El Salvador and all over the world. Everyone is talking about this and I don't think I will be able to return to my home country, let alone Rieti.'
Sister Roxana has written a letter of apology to the order's mother superior general Elvira Petaraca - the woman who in September she solemnly promised to follow her vows of 'chastity, poverty and obedience', the three main pillars of the Little Disciples of Jesus Order.
The nun had only arrived in Italy last summer at the nunnery in Rieti and has told officials that the father is a man from her native El Salvador but she has so far not named him.
Father Benedetto Falcetti, priest at the nearby St Michael's church in Rieti, said: 'It all happened last spring, around March or April time when she was back in El Salvador to get her passport renewed.
'She has not said who the father is but I understand he is an, shall we say, old flame of hers from when she was younger. At some stage I expect she will tell the father that he has a son and they will be reunited but I don't know when that will be.'
+2
However not all sure Father Falcetti 's delight at the birth, apart from the anger of her superiors, sister Roxana has also upset her fellow nuns at the convent in Campomoro.
One nun who answered the telephone at the convent and who asked not to be named said:'No we must certainly not be going to visit her. What she has done is not right at all. She has betrayed her vows. She will not be coming back here.'
Since news of the birth was announced the hospital has been flooded with gifts for the nun and her new baby including nappies, clothes and money.
Hospital director Pasquale Carducci said:'We have had to put extra security on the maternity wing because of all the interest. Like any new mum she is delighted but obviously this has created a great deal of clamour because she is a nun.
'There have been calls and gifts from dozens of well wishers and she has passed on her thanks to all these people. Medically she and the baby are doing well and I expect them to be discharged by Tuesday at the latest.'
Massimo Casciani, spokesman for the local bishop of Rieti, monsignor Delio Lucarelli, said: 'At some point the bishop will visit the nun but at the moment he has not yet seen here.
'We shall be investigating the circumstances behind - the child could be the fruit of a consensual rapport but it could also have been as a result of violence. That's why we need to investigate properly.'
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2542121/First-picture-nun-new-mother-Roxana-Rodriguez-Photograph-emerged-week-gave-birth-baby-boy-named-Francis-Pope.html#ixzz2qsGtGsqn
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Sister Roxana initially claimed to have no idea that she was pregnant and thought her labour pains were 'stomach cramps' when an ambulance rushed her to hospital in severe pain after being called by fellow nuns when she collapsed at her nunnery.
+2
Roxana Rodriguez, a nun with the order of the Little Disciples of Jesus, stunned her mother superior and local church chiefs after giving birth last week to a baby boy
Her picture was published in the Italian daily newspaper Corriere Della Sera, who have carried out an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the birth of 9lb Francis and have spoken to the the social worker in the case.
It shows Sister Roxana, who is currently in the first floor maternity unit at the San Camillo de Lellis hospital in Rieti, 50 miles north of Rome, as she took her vows and became a nun in the order last September.
She told her social worker Anna Fontanella:'I am so happy. I feel more of a mother than a nun, I think that's obvious. I decided to call him Francis in honour of our wonderful south American Pope. I do not feel of guilt. I will be keeping him and bringing him up.
'He is a gift from God. I am little worried about all the publicity, not only in Italy but in El Salvador and all over the world. Everyone is talking about this and I don't think I will be able to return to my home country, let alone Rieti.'
Sister Roxana has written a letter of apology to the order's mother superior general Elvira Petaraca - the woman who in September she solemnly promised to follow her vows of 'chastity, poverty and obedience', the three main pillars of the Little Disciples of Jesus Order.
The nun had only arrived in Italy last summer at the nunnery in Rieti and has told officials that the father is a man from her native El Salvador but she has so far not named him.
Father Benedetto Falcetti, priest at the nearby St Michael's church in Rieti, said: 'It all happened last spring, around March or April time when she was back in El Salvador to get her passport renewed.
'She has not said who the father is but I understand he is an, shall we say, old flame of hers from when she was younger. At some stage I expect she will tell the father that he has a son and they will be reunited but I don't know when that will be.'
+2
The nun stunned her mother superior and local church chiefs after giving birth last week to a baby boy which she has called Francis, in honour of the current Pope
However not all sure Father Falcetti 's delight at the birth, apart from the anger of her superiors, sister Roxana has also upset her fellow nuns at the convent in Campomoro.
One nun who answered the telephone at the convent and who asked not to be named said:'No we must certainly not be going to visit her. What she has done is not right at all. She has betrayed her vows. She will not be coming back here.'
Since news of the birth was announced the hospital has been flooded with gifts for the nun and her new baby including nappies, clothes and money.
Hospital director Pasquale Carducci said:'We have had to put extra security on the maternity wing because of all the interest. Like any new mum she is delighted but obviously this has created a great deal of clamour because she is a nun.
'There have been calls and gifts from dozens of well wishers and she has passed on her thanks to all these people. Medically she and the baby are doing well and I expect them to be discharged by Tuesday at the latest.'
Massimo Casciani, spokesman for the local bishop of Rieti, monsignor Delio Lucarelli, said: 'At some point the bishop will visit the nun but at the moment he has not yet seen here.
'We shall be investigating the circumstances behind - the child could be the fruit of a consensual rapport but it could also have been as a result of violence. That's why we need to investigate properly.'
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2542121/First-picture-nun-new-mother-Roxana-Rodriguez-Photograph-emerged-week-gave-birth-baby-boy-named-Francis-Pope.html#ixzz2qsGtGsqn
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¿LOS OBAMAS SE SEPARAN? DOS DIFERENTES TRATAS EN LA PRENSA INGLESA Y EN LA OPINIÓN DE ZAMORA
50 aniversario
Michelle celebra su cumpleaños trasnochando y bailando
La fiesta en la Casa Blanca contó con un selecto grupo de amigos quienes llevaron "zapatos cómodos para bailar"
19.01.2014 | 11:53
EFE / WASHINGTON La primera dama de Estados Unidos, Michelle Obama, celebró este sábado su 50 cumpleaños en una exclusiva fiesta en la Casa Blanca en la que se bailó hasta la media noche y contó con un selecto grupo de amigos.
La Casa Blanca repartió contadas invitaciones a personalidades cercanas a la primera dama a los que pidió "traer los zapatos cómodos para bailar" y pasar una velada de "snacks, sorbos, baile y postres".
La lista de invitados se ha mantenido en secreto, al tiempo que se ha pedido a los asistentes que se abstengan en todo momento de realizar fotografías y compartirlas en las redes sociales para mantener la discreción en una fiesta poco habitual en la oficial Washington, en las que las invitaciones muchas veces responden a compromisos y no solo amistad.
Michelle Obama ha invitado a personalidades y mujeres que considera ejemplos a seguir para la juventud estadounidense y, según algunos rumores no confirmados, la cantante Beyoncé actuó en la fiesta de cumpleaños pensada para poner a todos a bailar.
Beyoncé y la primera dama mantiene una buena relación, acentuada durante la última campaña electoral en la que la artista y su marido, el rapero Jay-Z, colaboraron activamente.
Pese a los 50 años que cumplió ayer, Michelle a buen seguro se ha dejado llevar por su gusto por el baile, algo que ya ha demostrado en público en varias ocasiones y que domina mucho mejor que Barack Obama, quien, por su puesto, no se perdió el homenaje a su esposa.
La primera dama llega a sus 50 años en buena forma y "relajada", según los que la conocer, por los logros de sus campañas contra la obesidad infantil, en favor de los veteranos y el acceso educativo.
Michelle Obama entró a la Casa Blanca en 2009, a los 45 años, y desde entonces ha mantenido el papel destinado tradicionalmente a las primeras damas, centrado en temas como la educación, la salud o la pobreza, con un aire más fresco y desenfadado que sus antecesoras.
Nacida el 17 de enero de 1964 en Chicago bajo el nombre de Michelle LaVaughn Robinson, la actual primera dama, Graduada en Derecho en la Universidad de Harvard, es una de las tres únicas esposas de un presidente estadounidense que ha obtenido un máster universitario.
La preparada abogada conoció a su marido precisamente cuando era su superior en una firma de abogados en la que Obama, por aquel entonces con 27 años, trabajó un verano. La insistencia de Barack para que comenzaran a salir dio frutos pese a los recelos de Michelle, que temía que no fuera algo apropiado entre dos compañeros de trabajo.
Barack Obama, de 52 años, felicitó a su esposa en Twitter y le dio las gracias "por todo lo que haces", además de adjuntar una foto en la que los dos aparecen abrazados en la Casa Blanca.
En una entrevista concedida a la revista People con motivo de su cumpleaños, Michelle confiesa que en este momento de su vida "el cielo es el límite" y por eso seguirá buscando maneras de "tener impacto", como madre y como profesional, cuando deje la Casa Blanca dentro de tres años.
Obama ha prometido a su esposa en Twitter, que este fin de semana, que es más largo de lo habitual porque el lunes es festivo nacional para conmemorar al reverendo Martin Luther King, lo dedicará a su cumpleaños.
Su regalo anticipado fue ofrecerle que prolongará una semana las vacaciones navideñas en Hawai en compañía de amigas como la popular presentadora Oprah Winfrey mientras el presidente y las niñas regresaban a Washington para
La Casa Blanca repartió contadas invitaciones a personalidades cercanas a la primera dama a los que pidió "traer los zapatos cómodos para bailar" y pasar una velada de "snacks, sorbos, baile y postres".
La lista de invitados se ha mantenido en secreto, al tiempo que se ha pedido a los asistentes que se abstengan en todo momento de realizar fotografías y compartirlas en las redes sociales para mantener la discreción en una fiesta poco habitual en la oficial Washington, en las que las invitaciones muchas veces responden a compromisos y no solo amistad.
Michelle Obama ha invitado a personalidades y mujeres que considera ejemplos a seguir para la juventud estadounidense y, según algunos rumores no confirmados, la cantante Beyoncé actuó en la fiesta de cumpleaños pensada para poner a todos a bailar.
Beyoncé y la primera dama mantiene una buena relación, acentuada durante la última campaña electoral en la que la artista y su marido, el rapero Jay-Z, colaboraron activamente.
Pese a los 50 años que cumplió ayer, Michelle a buen seguro se ha dejado llevar por su gusto por el baile, algo que ya ha demostrado en público en varias ocasiones y que domina mucho mejor que Barack Obama, quien, por su puesto, no se perdió el homenaje a su esposa.
La primera dama llega a sus 50 años en buena forma y "relajada", según los que la conocer, por los logros de sus campañas contra la obesidad infantil, en favor de los veteranos y el acceso educativo.
Michelle Obama entró a la Casa Blanca en 2009, a los 45 años, y desde entonces ha mantenido el papel destinado tradicionalmente a las primeras damas, centrado en temas como la educación, la salud o la pobreza, con un aire más fresco y desenfadado que sus antecesoras.
Nacida el 17 de enero de 1964 en Chicago bajo el nombre de Michelle LaVaughn Robinson, la actual primera dama, Graduada en Derecho en la Universidad de Harvard, es una de las tres únicas esposas de un presidente estadounidense que ha obtenido un máster universitario.
La preparada abogada conoció a su marido precisamente cuando era su superior en una firma de abogados en la que Obama, por aquel entonces con 27 años, trabajó un verano. La insistencia de Barack para que comenzaran a salir dio frutos pese a los recelos de Michelle, que temía que no fuera algo apropiado entre dos compañeros de trabajo.
Barack Obama, de 52 años, felicitó a su esposa en Twitter y le dio las gracias "por todo lo que haces", además de adjuntar una foto en la que los dos aparecen abrazados en la Casa Blanca.
En una entrevista concedida a la revista People con motivo de su cumpleaños, Michelle confiesa que en este momento de su vida "el cielo es el límite" y por eso seguirá buscando maneras de "tener impacto", como madre y como profesional, cuando deje la Casa Blanca dentro de tres años.
Obama ha prometido a su esposa en Twitter, que este fin de semana, que es más largo de lo habitual porque el lunes es festivo nacional para conmemorar al reverendo Martin Luther King, lo dedicará a su cumpleaños.
Su regalo anticipado fue ofrecerle que prolongará una semana las vacaciones navideñas en Hawai en compañía de amigas como la popular presentadora Oprah Winfrey mientras el presidente y las niñas regresaban a Washington para
Is the Obama marriage on the rocks? Astonishing claims emerge of ugly fights over that selfie, and even a Presidential affair
- Michelle Obama alleged to have discovered her husband has been unfaithful
- Reports claim they will separate at the end of his presidency in 2016
- Follows claims in two books that couple neared divorce in early 2000's
|
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Formidable: Michelle Obama with her husband
With invitations warning guests to ‘EBYC’ — Eat Before You Come — and rumours they’ll be dancing to star turns from Beyonce and her rapper husband Jay Z, it won’t be your usual White House knees-up.
Michelle Obama was 50 yesterday and President Barack Obama will be feting his redoubtable First Lady tonight with a party that will give them the chance to let their hair down and forget their troubles for a few hours.
The email inviting guests to the ‘snacks & sips & dancing & dessert’ advised them to wear comfortable shoes and practise their dance moves.
Purse-lipped Washington etiquette experts have tutted at the informality of it all, but the Obamas have always been keen to appear accessible, even if the stand-offish reality is somewhat different.
The Obamas are the world’s most scrutinised couple at the best of times, but it will be rare to find a guest at the bash who won’t be secretly watching them with particular interest.
After all, the last time they were pictured together — at Nelson Mandela’s memorial — the First Lady was looking none too pleased as the her husband posed for a ‘selfie’ photograph with the leggy blonde Danish Prime Minister, Helle Thorning-Schmidt.
Indeed, if the U.S. tabloids are to be believed, the relationship of Washington’s golden couple is facing problems that go far beyond dirty looks.
Under the headline Obama Divorce Bombshell!, the National Enquirer claims their 21-year marriage has dissolved in a string of ugly fights that were prompted by the Mandela memorial incident and — far more outrageously — Mrs Obama’s discovery that Secret Service bodyguards had been covering up infidelity on her husband’s part.
It’s an allegation the White House has declined to comment on, though after Bill Clinton’s trouser-dropping scandals, Americans would be rather less sanguine about any extra-marital activity than the French appear to be over President Francois Hollande’s behaviour.
Mrs Obama, the Enquirer claims, intends to stand by her husband until his presidency is over, at which time he will move back to Hawaii, where he grew up, and she will stay in Washington with their children.
For the moment, they are allegedly sleeping in separate bedrooms after Mr Obama’s attempt to ‘mend fences’ backfired so badly on a recent Christmas getaway to Hawaii that he returned to Washington with their two daughters, leaving his wife behind.
The National Enquirer, it must be said, quoted only anonymous insiders in support of these sensational claims, and is hardly the most reliable source of hard news.
Obama advisers are certainly not talking as if there is any scandal in the offing.
The couple are ‘role models for parents all across the country’, according to old friend and adviser Valerie Jarrett. ‘She’s at the top of her game. She’s fabulous at 50.’
‘There was little conversation and even less romance. She was angry at his selfishness and careerism; he thought she was cold and ungrateful’
- Washington reporter Richard Wolffe
But everyone remembers how the Enquirer famously got it right when it claimed the supposedly squeaky clean Democrat presidential contender John Edwards had fathered a love child by a former campaign worker.
Thin as its story may seem at the moment, might it be on to something again?
At least it was right on one point — Mrs Obama did remain in Hawaii. The White House quickly offered an explanation, saying the extended stay had been a birthday present from her husband.
‘If you have kids, you know that telling your spouse they can spend a week away from home is actually a big present,’ said his spokesman.
Before returning home on Wednesday, Mrs Obama holed up for more than a week at TV star Oprah Winfrey’s spectacular 12-bedroom house on a mountainside estate on Maui, the second largest of the Hawaiian islands.
Their girls-only get-together was joined by Oprah’s close friend, the TV presenter Gayle King, White House aide Valerie Jarrett and Sharon Malone, wife of the U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder.
Oprah has described the estate as a place where she and guests sit on the porch sipping guava cocktails, and ride horses to the top of the mountain to watch the sun go down.
Why would anyone rush back to chilly Washington from such an idyll?
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Looking frosty as he poses for that selfie
Since he was elected President, two books have claimed the couple came close to splitting in their early years together, with Mrs Obama even drawing up divorce papers after deciding his burning political ambition was ruining their chances of domestic happiness.
In 2009, veteran Washington reporter Richard Wolffe claimed that the marriage almost collapsed nine years earlier because of Obama’s political drive and the family’s shattered finances.
‘There was little conversation and even less romance. She was angry at his selfishness and careerism; he thought she was cold and ungrateful,’ wrote Wolffe.
At the time, Mrs Obama had only recently become a mother — their daughters Malia and Sasha are now 15 and 12. Her husband, whom she had met while they were both working for a Chicago law firm in 1989, was a mere State Senator in Illinois who had just been thrashed in a battle for a seat in Congress.
‘She hated the failed race for Congress in 2000 and their marriage was strained by the time their younger daughter, Sasha, was born,’ wrote Wolffe in Renegade.
Michelle was holed up for more than a week at TV star Oprah Winfrey’s spectacular 12-bedroom house on a mountainside estate on Maui
‘We’re going to be fine,’ he quoted Mrs Obama as saying. ‘We’re strong enough to take anything on and be OK at the end.’
Yet, according to some accounts, Mrs Obama didn’t take well to Washington life.
Former French First Lady Carla Bruni revealed in a book how she had asked what life was like there. ‘Don’t ask! It’s hell. I can’t stand it!’ Mrs Obama reportedly told her. Mrs Obama later insisted she had never said that.
In 2012, meanwhile, political writer Edward Klein claimed Mr Obama had become so depressed about his failing marriage in 2000 that friends feared he was contemplating suicide.
Mrs Obama had been furious because she had warned him not to fight the disastrous Congress election battle which he lost, said Klein.
‘During the dark days that followed his defeat, he turned to Michelle for comfort. But she was in no mood to offer him sympathy,’ wrote Klein, who claimed Michelle’s friends told him she had even drawn up divorce papers.
‘He had dashed Michelle’s hopes of creating a stable and secure future,’ he wrote. ‘As a result their marriage was on the rocks, and Obama confided to friends that he and Michelle were talking about divorce.’
+4
The First Lady tonight celebrates her 50th birthday with a drinks and dancing night at the White House
Could the couple have reached such a crisis again?
In an interview published to coincide with her birthday, Mrs Obama provided glimpses of a woman who — after devoting years to her husband’s career and raising their children — now feels ready to put herself first.
The formidable and often forthright First Lady, who has routinely been portrayed as the one who really wears the trousers in the Obama household, says she wants to be more like her mother.
‘She does exactly what she wants to do every single day without apology,’ Michelle said.
Long an icon of wholesomeness with her campaigns for regular exercise and healthy eating, Mrs Obama even admits she wouldn’t rule out plastic surgery or Botox to keep her looks: ‘Women should have the freedom to do whatever they need to do to feel good about themselves.’
Her life is ‘ever-evolving’, she says, adding: ‘I’ve got to keep figuring out ways to have an impact.’
Her husband knows the feeling. He must wish the rumours of marital strife were the only cloud hanging over the big party.
For the truth is that the promise of the most anticipated presidency since that of John F. Kennedy has long since dimmed.
During the dark days that followed his defeat, he turned to Michelle for comfort. But she was in no mood to offer him sympathy
- Political writer Edward Klein
What don’t Americans like? Pretty much everything.
After winning a second term from unenthusiastic voters, largely because his Republican opponent Mitt Romney was so uninspiring, Obama spent much of last year making many voters contemplate the unthinkable: perhaps even Romney would have been better.
Obama recently joked that if the Washington press is to be believed, his presidency has suffered ‘15 near-death experiences’.
The disenchantment of even some of his most senior deputies has now been forcefully revealed by his former Defence Secretary Robert Gates.
In an incendiary autobiography, Gates portrays Mr Obama as dangerously aloof, arrogant, naïve, indecisive and a worryingly detached ‘commander in chief’ who has no passion for his nation’s armed forces.
Whether forging policy on Iraq or Syria, Obama ignored his military commanders but then rowed back on his promises — such as that ‘red line’ he set over Syria’s use of chemical weapons — when it suited him.
Gates admits being ‘deeply uneasy’ with the Obama administration’s ‘lack of appreciation, from the top down, of the uncertainties and unpredictability of war’.
Hardly a ringing endorsement for the leader of the free world.
+4
The White House rebuffs claims of tensions within the Obama marriage, claiming they are still role models
And this week, Gates’ icy verdict on his old boss was echoed by another defence insider.
Sir Hew Strachan, an adviser to the Chief of the Defence Staff in Britain, claimed the U.S. President was ‘chronically incapable’ of formulating military strategy, falling short even of George W. Bush.
At home, the second term to-do list has been mired in problems, in particular the furious political rows that surrounded the introduction of ‘Obamacare’, his big idea for a new healthcare plan to reform America’s grossly inefficient health care system and extend health insurance to millions of poor Americans.
So what can he do in his final three years in power to win back the admiration he once inspired? Apart from reforming America’s immigration laws, the White House has run out of ideas.
It emerged this week that the Clintons keep a ‘grudge book’ listing the names of those who have wronged them.
Given the damage Mr Obama must have done to Hillary Clinton’s chances of succeeding him in the White House in 2016, his name is surely top of the list.
As for the First Lady, she plans to show she’s young at heart tonight by doing the Dougie, a hip-hop dance popular with cool American teenagers.
Whether she’ll feel the urge to slow dance with the President remains to be seen.
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Comments (620)
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The comments below have been moderated in advance.
So what!? What marriage never has any tensions? Being in the public eye just makes it more difficult. I wish them luck and strength to overcome whatever difficulties they may face.
I would take this article with a very large portion of salt
And of course DM you would know all about their marriage - I have no doubt you are in regular contact with both of them!
This makes me laugh more than anything.
A photo taken out of context and a story in the National Enquirer are of no significance.
How long before we read articles from the Onion News Network on here masquerading as truth?
Can't wait for this man to leave office. No one can!
I have always rather liked Mrs Obama, so it is sad to read about this. One wonders from what standpoint the comment is made that another publication, on which the thrust of this article is largely based, is "hardly the most reliable source of hard news".
If I see that word "selfie" again I think I'll go mad ! It's the latest word that the journalistic sheep have latched onto. The other ubiquitous word is "impact". No longer do we have an "effect" or "effecting" - it's impact and impacting. In many cases the word is used completely inappropriately but that doesn't seem to matter. - jbdanvers, Scotland, United Kingdom, 18/01/2014 10:58 I also hate the trend for starting sentences with any of the following:- Indeed, Certainly, It comes, it emerged etc so lazy
wheels coming off
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