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Grandma’s Lemon Yogurt Muffin cake

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Late one summer when I was just a little girl, my late grandmother took me with her to the local farmer’s market. I remember that it was full of smiling people, that were picking the fresh vegetables and fruit form the rows and rows of colorful stands. There were men and women of all ages just smiling and chatting with the farmers, telling them how lovely their picks look, how great the smell of melons and watermelons are. They were parsing how big and orange the carrots were and how their soup was going to be great with the frames parsley in it. For a child it was amazing experience and I watched it all with my eyes wide open, smiled, said hello and waived to everyone who passed my grandmother and me. But little that I know at the time that my grandmother was on mission. A were special mission to find lemons. Those fresh, ripe lemons, that smell of summer and sea side. You know, those lemons that you, when you pick them up, the start to smell right away and you know they are
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To me do not write „I love you “ without

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All love is written with "I love you", yet ... you do not write love to me like that. Prancing on her toes to reach your lips, to give you that last kiss before you get out of the door to do what you are so good at, telling you: Be careful. You are looking at me, and in your gaze, I take the opportunity to lurk into your world once again before you  are gone to do another gig, set up another concert, make a new mass party ... I have taught myself to let you go, praying to the heavens for another road marathon ends as it should and that you all get form one part of the country to another safe. From one country to another. To successfully come back from one corner of the universe and make my whole universe whole again. I've learned to let you go and keep quiet, to you and to the world that I love you. I learned to be silent and live love. And do not talk about how much my heart misses you, and how the days without you are beautiful still, but we still
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I do not get up in the morning for no one but me

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I do not get up in the morning for anything except for myself. I do not get up in the morning because of my friends, partners, parents. I do not get up anymore because of my homeland, my religion, my rain, no worries, no problems. I do not get up with the stomach cramp, afraid of what will enchant me and what will disappoint me today. I do not get up because of the political or financial situation. I do not get up because of the wise or harsh words. Especially I am no longer waiting for someone to recognize my value today. Or do not recognize. I do not have to get up and do not get up any more because of any compulsion imposed on the world.  I wake up every morning with a smile on my face. With the joy of the new day that has been given to me again. With the power in the eyes, the song on the lips and the fire in the chest.  Ready and safe, how can I easily handle every challenge of a new day, and that it will remain plenty of time for me to spend admiring the new day. New breaths,
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Do you dream dreams bigger than life – and why the hell not?

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You do not dream: Because you live in Croatia? Because the success that you wish for, no one near you has ever achieved? Because you listen to 'I just want well for you' destructive tips? Because after fifteen life happened and you are not sure of yourself as you were in your childhood? Because what you want, is not 'here'? Because your dreams do not match the phone numbers for your uncles or friends? Because deep down you know that for dreams you need to eat shit when on the second, more secure plate they is caviar mixed with nepotism as a temporary existential solution? Because you are stuck in your reality systems that draws you to the bottom every day? Because you know, it is hard to stand alone in the mediocrity crowd when you can find someone to have your back? The above written sentences are excuses and justifications why you cannot dream. Why not, one day when we invest all of our physical and mental resources, become what we dreamed of wh
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Instead of being our self-worst critic, we should be our best support.

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Ever since I can remember, I was my own greatest critic. I do not need anyone to control any of my text before sending them in and assessing whether my views are wrong or true. I do not need anyone to tell me that I can do better because I know that I can always do better. If people complimented me about ideas or texts, I would have thought – what is wrong with you, I did it in 15 minutes, is not a big deal. Then I stopped and realized that it was still a big deal. Then I recently stopped and realized how good and great things I actually did in my life, and I have not stopped and give myself an applause for longer than three seconds, or at all. Like most people who do not. How many situations I have been so strong that I did not even know you could be so strong, that I have not stopped and gave myself an applause of more than three seconds, or at all. Like most people who do not. I did not stop and gave myself an applause of more than three seconds, or at all, for that I, e
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Who forbid you to be you?

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In the same day, two different people answer me the same wat to the asked question: “I am doing this and that. To make my day go faster. Just to make time fly by.” The emotion behind that answer is: “I am waiting for my life to pass by. Because it is full of crap. However, I do have to live it anyway. So, I am waiting behind some stupid actions for death to come and save me.”   I do not want to say I do not rest and be lazy. O, you would not believe how I can be lazy and do nothing. In my case, I call that recharging my batteries, or simple enjoyment. I just recently had some two gloomy days where I was unbearable to myself. Therefore, I was looking for anything to get me out of that intolerance.   Therefore, I found some great song and I think I had listen to it for a million and a half times. So I started to dance. (You know I love to dance). And here I became more bearable, remembering that life was really brilliant. It was not life’s fault, it was my own. I was unbearable to
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Everybody has bad days and that is ok.

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After the rainy days, a sunny day came up. Then shit happened. I got an allergic rash on my face. "What do I do now?" Otherwise, I must put the powder and cover that rash when I leave the house. It does not matter to me personally; I accept myself with it. Just as I know it does not define me in any one view. I put it exclusively for other people. Not to answer questions and not to let me ... "Wait, wait," follows the inner monologue. "You do not want to put the powder on the face and you look forward to leaving the house, but you will harass and yourself and your husband while you put the powder because of other people." This voice in my head can sometimes be wise, and I realize it's right about this situation. I step outside without foundation, rash kilometric-scale on-site. Without any discomfort associated with physical appearance. It only bothers me because in moments the rash is really tremendously painful. I go into a local store and face th
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