Never say never

I usually am not a fan of technology. 

But every now and then I acknowledge and/or adore the gadgets of our times.

Recently I am feeling down.

I may find (some of) the reasons behind this stage of depression, but these background issues are not what this post is about.

In this depressed mood, I, by some inspiration, have started to read through some of my old posts here.

And voila', I found that these feelings are not unique in the way that I have already had them back in some 7 years ago.

The state now I am in is not unprecedented.

(in a sense that) I do not have some new, really horrific and incurable mental condition.

I am feeling awful, but it is not anything new.

Actually, this finding is a relief.

Somehow.

In a kind of perverted way, I must admit.

Be blessed!


 

National Holiday

At the first evening of the 1956 revolution, usual radio broadcasting was made impossible by street fights.

Before the national radio station was moved to the building of the Parliament, journalists grabbed a few vinyl records in a hurry and later on, played them during the days of the revolution.
This record, Beethoven's s Egmont overture got played so often that it is connected to the Revolution. For many magyars who think about 1956, this is the music that pops right to the mind.

This to remember the heroes of '56.

25 years

we are having the 25 year high school graduation reunion this year.

yes, it's been that long.

there are two meetings, one tomorrow at the capital of Hungary, and on the 24 August at the city of the alma mater, hometown for me, and for most of the members of the class of 1988.

-

at this point of one's life there are still a lot of paths available, but not as much as there were 25 years ago. the path is narrowing.

one might feel a tightening, a squeeze of possibilities, a terrible loss of all the could-have-beens...

but also, one might feel the strength coming from the realization that no more bullshit is allowed. this is it, and this is as good as it gets.

and also, for the lucky ones, there is a strong support of all the things achieved by one so far, all the validation of one's existence.

-

as for me, i am torn somewhere in the middle.

one day i will be able to write about all the things i did not do, and all the things i still miss of not having done.

and one day i should be grateful for all the other things i have.

wait, i am not that nasty - i am grateful for lots of what i have today. and i mean relationships, persons and positions. i am grateful.

yet...

i think for one time of the year, for this one reunion day, one is allowed to weep over the loss.

to be able to elaborate and evaluate the so-called loss...

for if i had the things i do not have now, then i would not have all the things i acknowledge today.

and for this one reunion day, one is allowed to shed some tears for the dreams torn.

-

there were 38 of us.

now there are only 37, for one man, still not much more, than a boy at the time of his death, was drowning in the sea near India.

-

it appears that there will be only two of us tomorrow in Budapest.

the woman who's coming is one of my best buddies of the old days. i am looking forward to meeting her :)

a little memory

Hungarian success

you may not be watching Britain's got talent all the time, but the seventh season has just started and with a massive success from a Hungarian dance company.

here's the video, it takes only 4 minutes and your breath away.

:)

mixed emotions

warning: lots of emotions in the following post.
-

my maternal grandmother, born in 1921, has been living in an institute for the elderly. this is a safe place with nurses and with regular medical checkups by special doctors. the institute is run by a church.

my grandmother, who became weak physically in the past 3 or so years has become one of the favourite of the nurses. her kindness and polite behaviour made her really likeable person among the other inmates, too.

in this institute each person has his/her own room and two persons share a bathroom.

it is not a really cheap facility, but not a fancy one either. say, a medium one.

-

she sold her flat and moved in when her health weakened.

with all the comfort of the facility around her, her health status kept dropping.

little by little she lost her physical and spiritual strength.

to avoid incidents, such as falling on the ground (you know how easily the bones of the elderly brake...) they began to give her mild sedatives.

i recall her as a caring, warm-hearted, witful and smiling person. she was extremely good at basic mathematics and could easily beat anyone in the simple logical questions of everyday life.

her old self, the one i knew her has gradually faded away.

i kind of imagine that she was in a haze for the past 6 month or so.

with her physical conditions dramatically dropping to a level hardly bearable, and her mind being wandering around in spheres unreacheable to us, i believe her soul was in an eager search to find solace with god and re-unite with her husband (my grandfather, who passed away 5-6 years ago) with whom they led a perfectly, unimaginably solid married life for more than 50 years (was it 60?).

-

she passed away a day ago.

i am crying but i feel relief.

may she rest in peace at last.
-
this Ave Maria is for her

for our National Freedom Day

Hungarian patriots remember October 23, 1956 - and recall that some of those are still in power.

this compilation starts with the National Anthem and the radio message screaming for the 'free nations of the world' to help us out, to help get rid of the Russian invasion.

(no-one came and the Revolution was halted. in the forthcoming years the memory of this uplifting event was mucked by labelling 1956 a 'counter-revolution - something that is against the normal order)

then you are to hear Mindszenty's speach.

the female voice belongs to one of the fighters of '56. she says that the crime should not be forgotten. 'a crime is a crime a crime all right'.

some shocking original footage supplements the memorial.

we shall not forget you, heroes of 1956.

perfections and illusions

tonight i had a dream.

in this dream, for the thousand time, i met a situation, a circumstance, something, someone (choose one of your preference) that has been lurking around in my dreams, my everydays, my visions, my emails, my life in the past 10 or so years.

all these years i was well aware that the haunting, the tempting, the wish, the opportunity, the chance was not real.

i did toy with the idea of trying to rush in, of quitting, of swaying, of falling apart, but i remained calm, well, mostly on the outside, with turbulences, whirlwinds, lapses of reasons inside - and kept the status quo.

but no matter the facts, the reactions, the reasoning, the logic, i kept dreaming, having visions and dreams of what ifs, and what if nots.

today the dream was different.

i saw, felt and understood the aforementined something as it always was, or what i always knew it was but was tempted to refuse to see, feel and understand.

yet, for the first time it felt realistic.

it was a palpable, everyday situation.

it might mean i am getting closer to a solution, if any, or to that i am simply closing any future pathways to any chances.

the dream might mean that i have no illusions anymore.

i am still in awe of the depth of the dream.
do share any of your thoughts this post has awaken.

the song may or may not represent the feelings of one, or more of the parties involved. basically, i am not crying over anyone, including myself - but a little crying every now and then is relaxing, a must if you like, and listening to kd lang duetting with roy orbison does always good.

on tour with the choir

dear all,

i am off for a 5-day tour to Austria and Germany between 12 and 16 July.

we are to pay a short visit to Mondsee near Salzburg, to sing in churches in Aichach and in Augsburg in two different days, and also to have a beer at Weltenburg, and have a boat ride on the Danube.

we are going by bus and i'm taking a traditional notebook and a pen with me - you know... just in case, the muse hits or something.

we will perform G.B. Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, P. Cornelius's Messe in d-minor, and some short pieces by classical German composers like Schumann.

sway

i wrote the short story.

i had some hard time finding the true motive to write it at all - a task given at a virtual writers' course is just not an internal motive, for me it is not.

i usually write when i feel i have to.

so, i had some difficulties starting the writing at all and i knew it did not come out that good.

-

i received suggestions from my course-mates towards re-composing the story.

i plan to take a good break and rewrite it.

-

a five minute rush

- the body was not found.

- hmmm, uhm, yeah.

- neither was the weapon.

- uhmmm.

- how can you possibly eat in a situation like this?

- see, this is the last bit of my salad.

- there were bloodprints all over the carpet. over the furniture. over the mirror.

- uhm, i saw that one.

- the family had to move out.

- hmmmm.

- you said you were going to finish your salad.

- mmm.

- over the mirror, on the door and up on the ceiling.

- mmm, fine.

- and the patterns...

- what about them?

- they read: go away.

- you mean the blood?

- all over the house.

- the family did go away, right?

- so?

- it is over.

- this is not the solution.

- no, this is another piece of toast.

- you are horrible!

homeward bound - part three

this is the final part.
if you want an introduction to the mini-series, click here.
part one, click here.

part two is over here.

-

3.

Ten years have passed. I frequently ride Road 44. I have never seen the woman in orange again.
Why is she on my mind?
Is it the early rise, the long trip? Or the fog that has been sifting for hours. Or the erased trees: ragged bushes, empty trunks; black, dark grey and whitish-grey stripes. Berries and dead leaves on the branches. A winding road bordured by hawthorn and blackberries. Dewdrops on grass.
This is not Road 44.

Tomorrow is the birthday of my first grandchild. I saw him on photos, but have not held him more then thrice. His head smelling milk. His soft fingers closing on mine.
I took a deep breath and pressed my eyes beneath the glasses.

I heard a neigh from the left. Her feet wet with dew, a heavy mare trotted on the field. She had no saddle on: her back was steaming.
I checked upon the empty road, and back to the meadow again. She was far away. I turned up the volume.

Housetops, reddish-brown rectangular patches appeared in the fog. From the right, a tractor with a trailer lurching along turned up to the main road.
A bus was coming. The driver kept his hand on the giant steering wheel. The wiper struggled with the steam. The yellow curtain beside the driver’s seat was jigging behind the window. The rest of the bus was yet lost in the fog.

I saw a low-built red car behind me in the mirror. It was coming unexpectedly fast, and wanted to pass from the left, so I pulled a bit to the side. The sports car accelerated. The seats were covered in cow pattern.

I heard a bang and a crash from the front.
The trailer swayed. There were pineneedles encased on the creased sheet. There were water bubbles on the needles. Within each bubble there was the red car, and the bushes, blurred greyish-black.
My car spinned and I held onto the wheel. My legs became tense, as if I was balancing a heavy burden on my back.
I saw the bushes real close.
Then I saw nothing for a while.
Bushes again. Hawthorn twigs, slippery with dew, rounded, grey leaves. Ice will turn blue fruits black soon. I saw Grandma Lily facing me. How long have I not met her? Twenty, or twenty five years? It must be at least twenty five.
- Poppy, are you all right?
- Grandma Lily?
I was standing in their kitchen. I felt the smell of dill. Grandma was laughing. Her hands were sticky with eggyolk. She wiped them into her apron, took a couple of mittens and put the dill pie into the oven. I just had to smile, for she was smiling, too.
How much she did smile.

I felt dizzy and wanted to have a seat.

Actually, I was seated. The safety belt was pressing my belly.
Fog crept in from the windscreen.
The left window was lacking. I saw the mare again. She looked at me peacefully. I felt her breath. If I had just reached out I would have been able to touch her.
I was unable to move my hand.

I looked at Grandma Lily. I was standing beside her.
She hugged me. We went upstairs. She brought a photo album of unknown people in strange places in strange clothes: past, embedded in past. I remained happily silent, soaked in the album.
- So this is the terrace, where we usually were having breakfast. It is not visible, because this photo was made from Gretchen’s room. She did have a large amount of flowers, you know. And all those books. Oh, my. So, and this is the new shirt I bought your Grandpa just for the journey. And from this window, we could watch the sea.
The shine of the furniture in Grandma’s room was cloudy with age. I kept moving my fingernails in a hollow and watched Grandpa in his new shirt.

My cd-s were all messed up on the bottom of my car.
They were spotted with some liquid, and the damp from the top of the car kept dripping.
Some of the bolts of the roof’s carrier got loose.
Blue and white lights were flickering. There were more vehicles on the road. The bus, standing across the street was blocking the way. Some passengers left and were stamping and looking for one certain direction; some were cursing.
Footsteps were slatting on the wet blacktop. Somebody was standing beside my car and studied it. He was talking on his cellphone.

I was sitting in the garden, at my other grandmother’s. A huge pine casted shadows on the grass. I ran to the group of hortenzia bushes. I held one of the shrivelled, pale-brown blossoms in my hands. Between two faded petals I found a spider. His legs had so many tiny joints. The grass felt hot in the sunshine.

The village remained covered in fog. A grey ribbon, patched by small blobs moving about. An emergency car arrived. Bodies were lifted into vehicles.

There was an acorn moving back and forth on a branch of an oak. A strong wind shook it off to the ground.
Grandma Lily squeezed my hand in hers.
- It’s allright, hun. I’ll be taking care of you.

homeward bound - part one

Homeward Bound

’Sometimes the lights all shinin on me;
Other times I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.’
(quote from Grateful Dead: Trucking)

1.
To the left, there’s emptiness. A meadow, perhaps. From the right, trees were coming into sight. Patches of trees; trunks, bushes in blob patterns. Autumn used an eraser. The trees used to be there all the time, but were invisible. Dark, grey stripes, part of strips along the road.

Fog started to clear up around seven in the morning. I got up at four, and I’ve been on the road ever since. It takes at least another two hours to get there.

I reached to the passenger’s seat and fished for a cd underneath a red folder. With one hand I opened and shoved it into the player. For a brief moment I had to close my eyes.

I saw a horseman on the field, along my car. A young white horse ridden by a strong man – but his face was covered by his long, wavy hair – or was it the fog?

I wished to talk to them, but I minded the road, because I felt a sudden jolt. My car faced a thick barricade of hawthorn and blackberries.
Beside the bushes, I saw a young woman. Frighteningly close to the hood. She looked swaying, her hands tightly folded in front of her stomach.
Have I just ran over her?

She was wearing a long, orange dress and a coarse scarf. She had that dreamy look in her eyes.

I grabbed my warm sweater, got out of the car and said:
- Uhm, hello, good morning. Are you all right?
- Good morning. – She replied, watching something between the car and the bushes.
- What happened? Do you need my help?
- My son was run over.

My forehead felt like ice and I hardly could speak:
- Was it me?
The woman looked on the ground, somewhere under the bushes. The sole of her soft sandals were soaking wet in the November fog. She let her folded hands move. They flew like a bird released. They circled in the air and finally, her palm rested in front of her face.
She was crying.

There was nothing on the ground.
Well, there were grass, fallen twigs, berries. Dew. Fading leaves and black berries. Greyish-green blades of grass. Droplets of dew in neat order along the edges of grass. A couple more days and the frost bites.

The orange dress flew in the wind. I gulped once again.
- Was it me?

She let her hands down. She was definitely looking at something on the road. I checked, but the road was empty. She began to speak. Her words came out very slowly.
- It happened two years ago. My son was sitting next to me. I shouldn’t have let him.
She began to cry again.

- Please, have a seat in my car. It’s cold. Let me take you home.
The woman shook her head and continued:
- He was so small.
Her hands created a cradle. She was looking at the baby. The place of the baby within her hands.
- I should have put him into his baby seat.
A tuft fell from her knot of hair. She let it loose. She did not fixed it.
- He wanted to sit on the front. Mom, right beside you! – that’s what he said.

I shivered in the fog and reached for her hands.
- Let me take you home.

The woman was looking at the brown leaves on the ground. She saw something that I did not. Finally, she looked me in the eye:
- I’d rather stay for a while, but thank you anyway.

Two mothers. Two women.
We kept looking into each other’s eyes for a long time.
I saw a long, winding road in her iris. A narrow ribbon of road, bordered by bushes. There was a distant bell from a church. Cornflowers swayed in the wind. A ribbon of road. Cornflowers.
A small garden lake.
A kid’s bicycle, painted red, lying in the grass.
Butterflies chasing each other above cabbages.
The smell of tomatoes.
- Mom!
A foggy road. A slow wagon on the left side of the road. Brown, heavey horses. Hay. Brake creaking. Passing. A toy dog, rocking beneath the mirror. Two cars from the front. Passing.
- Mom!
Silence. A silence too long.

I sighed. Or was it she who sighed? I remained silent for a while and put my hands on her shoulders to say goodbye:
- Take good care.
I returned to my car. I started the engine slowly so that I could wave her again.
To say goodbye to her, whose name I failed to ask.
But she was already gone.

Four Women in The Night

for a short introduction, scroll down for Hi, I'm Pedro (part one and two).

if you want to skip it, that's okay. just read the four parts, and have fun answering the questions at the end.


---

Four Women in The Night (4*250 words)

Part 1. Thomas

His hands waving, Thomas walked loosely towards the bartender.
- Fine evening, huh?
The girl poured the drink, smiled, and returned to duty.
- So, how things’re going?
Thomas swung his arm, pushed himself up the counter and jumped on top. His tone was relaxed, with a sense of authority. He set his eyes on Laura’s.
A guy arrived.
Thomas eyed the newcomer. Then he leaned on his left elbow.
- I hear there’s a bar a few blocks down here. How’bout checking it out?
Laura was preparing pizza.
- Uhm, sorry, I’m quite busy now.
Thomas grinned, but his face was calm and soon he was smiling again. He moved the bowl of peanuts to the center of the counter and leaned even closer.
- I see, but this weekend sure is fine by you, hm?
He looked deep into the girl’s eyes. He was really close now.
Another guy appeared. His hands almost touched Thomas’s.
- Hey, watch yourself – Thomas exclaimed. - I have some business here and you disturb me.
The young man uttered something about working hard.
Thomas laughed at him and turned towards Laura.
- My dear, how about this weekend?
The young man abrupted again with some stupid remarks.
The girl was busy working and hardly focused on Thomas, so she asked:
- I’m sorry?
- This weekend, sure it’ll be fine, huh?
- I’m afraid, not.
Thomas raised his eyebrows:
- Next weekend?
Laura was calm.
- I’m sorry, but no.

Part 2. Orlando

Orlando arrived. He stood at the entrance for a while. He stood solidly, both feet on the ground.
There was only one man at the bar, sitting atop the left side of the counter.
Orlando approached. His steps were firm and deliberate, as if he was using space on purpose. He got to the counter and took the rightmost end of it. His soft hands rested on the shiny surface.
The other man looked at him, but Orlando averted his eyes.
With a calm tone in his voice, he greeted the girl behind the counter, and asked for something to eat.
- Tonight we have special pizzas. You may want to try them.
- You got me nterested. What toppings can I have, please?
Laura listed the possibilities.
Orlando watched her face. He listened carefully for her words.
The man on the left kept talking. He even pushed the peanuts to the middle, but Orlando did care to touch them. He was waiting for his pizza.
- Thank you.
Laura smiled back at him.
Someone else appeared.
A debate has started between the newcomer and the one sitting on the counter.
Orlando listened to their arguments. At times he stole glimpses at their movements, too.
Then he returned to look at the bartender. Head slightly tilted, he smiled.
- What are your plans for the future?
The girl smiled back.
- There are possibilities – she started but was interrupted by a noise. Laura turned around and adjusted the machine.

Part 3. Eric

Eric was waiting beside his coffee, while someone entered and headed to the bar. This man was soon gesturing wildly, leaning towards the girl. The girl was busy. She hardly seemed to stop.
Later on, another entered and took his place by the counter. The second man was relaxed. The girl was replying a lot to the first man, but attended the second one more frequently.
Rising from behind, Eric moved forward. He focused on the girl. He took the middle position between the two men. The one sitting on the counter spat that he should better mind his own business and harshly brushed Eric’s arms away.
Eric explained:
- I’m here just as right as anyone. Just look at how hard she’s working. Doing her best to serve us here and you are disgracing her.
The man on his left cared no attention to him.
The girl put the sandwich on a clay plate. Eric slowly pulled it closer and looked into Laura’s eyes. - Thank you.
His voice was deep. The girl returned his look. A smile was emerging, but instead she blushed and returned to her duties.
Eric ate the sandwich bit by bit. He was not hurried at all.
The man on the left kept picking on him, and at times he replied, which seemed to have bothered his rival.
- Man, I don’t want no trouble. Behave yourself and respect the lady.
Laura looked Eric once again.
A deep breath was on the rise.

Part 4. Laura (an interview)

- The first one was Thomas. What do you think of him?
- He had a definite man-like aura around him. He was confident. He was open about his intentions.

- Does it mean you liked him?
- Well, not exactly. He invaded my space, my physical world. He got very close. He thought too much of himself. He directly looked at my body, which I found rude. He looked fine and all but he was pushing himself too much.
- How was Orlando?
- Wow, the second guy was cool. Smooth and intellectual.
- What did you like about him?
- He was kind and paid attention to me. To what I said and how I said. He listened. He got the brains. He was a challenge to my mind somehow. Yes, I liked him.
- How do you think a relationship between you and Orlando would turn out (provided you chose him)?
- Calm and relaxing. Fine.
- And what about Eric?
- Strange. He just turned up - out of nowhere. But he acted as if he had been around here like a hunter waiting for prey.
- Like… offensive?
- No, he was cool! His manners overwhelmed me.
- Was he soft?
- Hm, no. Strange, isn’t it? He praised the way I was doing my job, he watched me, but he was not pushing it.
And he had that look, that shine in his eyes. There was passion inside. He reached for my soul.

---

QUESTIONS for my kind readers:

question1 - who did you think won Laura's heart? (why? - optinal)

question2 - which one did you think i played?

question3- any comments on the play, the writing itself, technical remarks, whatever (optional, but recommended)

-

bonus music: dead can dance's yulunga.

say goodbye

long was the night
a velvet, black ribbon
with lampions scatter'd among the bushes
shimmering, waning to ashes and sparkling again

soft was the light
honey dribbling over parched bread
teeth grinding, mouth closing, just another crumb

hunger and need

balance and solace

I can not
Propose
Be
To you
Your wife

never
and a yes, for ever.

i had a dream
but infinity ends here

i am to remain:
the reminder to stay
the rest.

---
(this to a relationship of 22 years)
- - -

anything might happen.

anything and the opposite as well.

just hand me another kleenex.

:)))

and no, i'm not letting myself into melancholy, because i have a great appointment for this Sunday - a short training program on discovering our inner self. about the feminine and the masculine within.

a friend of mine has talked me into this.

it's free and the instructor speaks only English. i might even have to translate at times.

we'll just see.

halo

I think I have just finished with the first draft of Halo. I started writing it in late 2007, stopped writing around March 2008 and never have added more than a couple of words and or done some minor revisions ever since. but this last December I decided to stop dragging writing anymore, put the delay to an end and voilá.

now I've got 7488 words, out of which 2207 was added in the last week. this is my longest ever writing. revisions might take more than half of it away, but still.

I think I'm just learning. I hope I do.

beta readers are kindly invited...

more information on the project is available on my other blog.

-

we have started learning Benjamin Britten's A Ceremony of Carols this week. If there is a virtual purring insert one hearty one to visualize my feelings about being on the path to be able to properly sing it. just yum. yum.

you can watch some of the pieces on YouTube.

-
so, I'll definitely let Halo rest for a couple of days.
in the meanwhile, be sure to visit Jason's contest named 'Silhouette'.

a very short poll

hi there, I need you answers, if there's anyone out there :))
in two of my recent posts I embedded a YouTube vide (one for each post).
the one below was a professional female chorus from Hungary singing an Ave Maria, the other one yet below was one of Eric Satie's Gnossiennes.
-
question time:
can you see and hear them?
because I can't...
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St. Nicholaus is coming - is he not?

this is going to be a short post about whether it is appropriate to tell the kids the truth or let them believe what they do believe.
it might not be a short post, after all.
I'm on the run to take my daughter to the folk dance session she attends twice a week and after that, I will check out the latest version of the legos in a local toy shop, with Christmas in my mind, and still after, I will be practising with the chorus, although my head aches like it is about to explode.
and yet after, I might be able to write this post.
I love y'all,
your tree.
but before I go, here's one fantastic piece of music:

Franz Biebl's Ave Maria - these ladies sing like angels. I am truly stunned by their performance.

a little of each

the blurred image I worshipped
lingers still
this is you and this is not you
I thought...
for times on, I thought
I knew the object from the shade it caused
here...
you
the one I thought were
and the one
really are.
-

cats, chicken, food and singin'

above here's another proof that our cat means no harm to our chicken - actually, when allowed outside of the hen-yard, chicken eat up all her catfood from her bowl. in this photo, my husband holds Hős Hibor - a young barred hen named after a character in Michael Ende's book called 'The Neverending Story'. on the left side, my mother in law's holding the cat on her lap. it was the cat who wanted to be there :))

-

last Sunday, as per usual, three of my kids' cousins visited us. I prepared a pizza dough and the toppings and they placed it on the pizza. in this photo, they are spreading the tomato sauce on the pizza - all home made :)

From left to right there are the three cousins, aged 3, 8 and 9; and my son, who turns 13 this December.

and finally, here's one piece of the music we are singing. also pictured are my new black dress the simple necklace I have to wear on the concert.
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