Writing exercise by The Church Lady

The challenge was launched by Church Lady.

Here's my entry. This time the limit was set at 150 and the plot was about a dog that smells something awful/nasty and the reader should find out only at the end what's the reason for such a smell. I'm sorry if it hurts some of your delicate readers....it is based on real experience.

The day sprang peacefully; the Sun was emerging from the sea. I let Inky off the leash and contemplated the beach for a few minutes. I counted the flock of seagulls, caressed the tall grass with my eyes.

‘Inky!’ – My calling did not echo in the vast open space, it fell flat onto the sand.There she came, her ears flipping as she ran towards me.

‘Good girl’ I patted her.

I intended to stroll a bit more among the dunes, so I descended towards the beach. I wished to see the waves from really close. I like how they come out and go back again. I like the foam.

The dog was not coming and I called out again.Then I saw her and smelled her.

Oh, not again…

She was having her morning snack right at where I have been squatting.

Not again, you nasty dog.

Man, trapped in brick

he went for a twilight walk

under the orange moon

swaying delicately over the sky

with no clouds of whatever

reason can not tell how long has this plate

been watching the man as he was walking the dunes

up and down up and down

his feet got sandprickles between the toes

so he took off his sandals

and left in among the rounded shore hills

while keeping his chin up and watching up above

to the Moon, freshly full and triumphant

on the dark blue ceiling

here and there scattered with small lanterns

the stars hummed

the water splashed in his ear

as he was walking the trail of his heart

following the orbit that lead him to a house on the cliffs

his hands toouched rock his fingers claw

marks into the wall of his life

caught his body, his head

he lowered, comtemplated the outside

of which he no loonger was part of

he was within,

trapped

squeezed

out his breath

came out no more

to the breeze of the winds

coming down from the shore

carrying away the fear of motionless moments

he breathed in life

the heart stopped for long

m o t i o n l e s s

m o m e n t s

the water reached the shore and circled around a brick

he breathed out

the eyes were closing into themselves

s i l e n t l y

you can not beat simplicity

I have not written about food for a loooooong time. Now, it's time I got back to my stomach. Let me see if filling my stomach with some cinnamon I adore would ignite my brains...?
Anyhow, this is supposed to be the world's simplest oven-made cake. Oatmeal cookies.
Here's the recipe.
Ingredients for an average baking sheet:

300g oatflakes
6-8 Tbsp honey
6 Tbsp vegetable oil
100g walnut, finely chopped (optional)
1 liter of water
1 Tbsp ground cinnamon (can be added right away OR spread on top before putting the cake into the oven).

Preparation method:

Toss everything into a large bowl
Stir once or twice so that everything gets mixed
Let is rest for 30 minutes.
When time's up, heat the oven.

Baking:

Bake in a baking-paper covered sheet for about 30 minutes.
It is ready when it still has a little jelly-substance to it. Don't overdo it.
Bon appetit.
I bet you can't give me a recipe that is easier to make. Yet I hope you can, b/c this is actually the only cake I venture in these days (actually, it turned into weeks) of building chaos. Besides this oatmeal cookie, I make the bread we eat, but making bread has become sort of a hobby by now. If you follow the label 'recipes', you can check back to see how our daily bread is made.

on lions, chicken and mites

My husband overheard a conversation the other day. He was in an electric shop, when two men were having this little fantastic dialogue. I intentionally used distorted English to match their level of intelligence - hence are the strange words. This is one of my first time to play with grammar this way. Tell me if I was wrong in transforming the language.

----

Man1: Dude, there's a country in Africa, where lions walks upright, have clothes on and speak like we.

Man2: Nonsense. You telling me you believe it?

Man1. Curse I do. Av heard it over radio in the Jimmy and Johhny.

----

I think I am aware of the ultimate, inexhaustible, pure stupidity of mankind.

Yet each time I'm given a proof of it, I sigh. These people have just as much right to vote as I do. The sheer intelligence of this one single morning glory (below) outdoes the accumulated value of those of the people in the above conversation.

Well, chicken. As most of you probably know, we have a few chicken and we are renovating the house. Keeping animals is fun, educative for the children, relaxing to the tired, healthy for the body, lalala. Yet every now and then, diseases and pests might attack. I'd like to emphasize MIGHT. Can you imagine a time more suitable for an attack by chicken-mites than the middle of demolition? When we don't know which end of the track should we follow, when we spend almost all of our time breaking walls, cleaning and storing the bricks for further use, giving anti-fungus treatment to woods that will make the new ceiling, lalala...? We tried to kill those nasty bugs with burning a sulphur-band to no avial. They flooded the walls and laughed at our attemps in one of their many refuges. Finally we had to re-plaster the chicken house so as to deprive the mites from their hiding places. We re-furnished the inside of the house. We even made a new ladder (for chicks to sleep on). The fight against mites took 3 whole days and it's not yet oven. When all we have in the new part of the house is this:

Wish to come over for a breath of fresh air wouldn't you, hm? I think the English says: 'When it rains it pours'. We say 'Trouble has a company' - (literally it is 'trouble does not walk alone' - 'a baj nem jár egyedül')

During the mites' attack, we lost 2 baby chicken of the last hatching. Now there are only five. They are named: Gray Dino, Pancake, Gofri, Jumper and Floating island (the Turken one). I think the names request some explanation. Gray Dino has received its name after a character in a PC-game. Pancake is just so lovely and yellowish as a pancake, Gofri looks like Pancake, only it's legs are thinner, Jumper likes to jump and Floating island, well we all love the food and so do we the little buff Turken chick. In case you did not know, a Floating island is a delicious sweet food, and gofri resembles pancake. But I have already told you that above :)

Above are photos of a Floating Island and a Gofri and below, of the hen and her 5. When they graze outside, they seem to be present everywhere, but when it comes to photographing, they turn into a buddhist garden - you can never see each and every one of the bunch at the same time.

Allright, I'm back to work again...

spell peace

you don't have to search to find

love is there anyway

and when unexpected beauty advances

your soul is taken

you don't have to fight to accept

you are given

and when boundaries met

your body is taken

you don't have to die to live

within the smallest of things it is the biggest of all

and when tranquility comes along

your mind is taken

don't be afraid, child

petrified, the magic is lost

flowing, it keeps growing

be one and be all

an imaginary letter

Preface: this I wrote on 18th, revised, adjusted and supplied it with music and a self-made photo on 19th August. It was inspired by something that happened to me that day. If you care to read it and have constructive comments, suggestions as to the style, topic, whatever, please share it with me. I wrote this piece with love, but I'd also like to improve my writing style. Leave your comments in the comments section, or drop me an email. Thank you all!

Photo: 3 August 2007, by me.

My life, as it is now, ends today. Tomorrow I will be travelling through space to become someone else, like a spider, tumbling over the furrows of a lichen and moss-covered tree, or to become a tree with birds nesting amongst the braches, or I might become a man with machines.

I'm going away, but before I do, I'm taking a look back at my life. This is what we all do when the old goes away. Taking account to step over the barrier.

My birth was undisturbed, my coming into this world was welcomed. Although I had neither my father nor my mother beside me, those who surrounded me watched my growth with love and cared about my comfort. They kept talking about how small I was and how big I would become one day. They kept telling how very useful and great I would become. This I liked.

Years passed and I grew up in self-confidence. I was being loved and I loved the ones that loved me. I liked the smell of the meadow in the morning, around the house I lived near to, I adored the song of the birds in the evening and all the little insects around me in the garden.

I had friends to talk to. Whenever the wind came down from the little hillside, we gathered and kept talking endlessly.

Not only cared I for those who lived near me - as soon as I was able to peek above the fence I began watching those who were passing by. I watched them and sometimes, when they looked at me with respecting eyes, I smiled back. They usually did not notice my smile, perhaps I was too shy.

Later on, those who had cared about me died. I weeped for them as one weeps for his parents. I missed them, and I still do.

But soon, new ones came. One by one, they removed my friends. I was left alone.

Lately, these new ones have left too, and yet others came.

They have been with me in the past year or so - and the care and respect I gave meant nothing to them. They did not seemed to perceive. They neglected me, and when they thought I was not listening, have begun talking about me as unnecessary, as an obsticle.

I still had one friend, who lived, and still lives accross the street.

This is a farewell letter to her, because this very day, extremely noisy others arrived. They took off my head, shred my hair, tore off my fingers, ripped off my upper and lower arms. None of the pains I experienced during my life had been this painful. It was a torture and I suffered for long. With motionless faces, they split up my trunk. My heart, that they were unable to dig into, is still here as long as I compose this.

My heart weeps for the land I used to live in, for the sweet soil I used to taste, for the rainwater I used to drink. I can not breathe any more. Memories get mixed up with thoughts about the future.

My heart will soon stop, I feel that. Mutilated, detruncated, my parts lie scattered around me. My heart will stop and my soul will be rising. I'm leaving you now. God bless you.

Take a really close look #4

Hello everyone,

this is the fourth quiz in the series. I hope to present you with a more difficult question.

The third round of the what's-this-game was really, really easy.

There were 4 guesses, namely (in no particular order) by Em, Melly, Beth (who won the second game) and Wordnerd (thanks for dropping by!).

Everyone guessed it correctly, although Em (who won the first game) insisted on guessing for 'leaf' as well. I value his courage, but this time, it was simply a feather.

So, the winner is.... MELLY, who got the right answer FIRST. Thanks Melly, for taking part in this little game. And congratulations!!!

BTW, I do hope you all enjoy this. (Cause I do.)

And the 4th starts off right now : what is this?

I made this photo on 3 August, 2007.

UPDATE: if you wish to take a look at, or contribute to a very interesting debate on world culture, potential solutions, hate vs. love - don't miss Jason's latest post.

writing excercise

challenge proposed by The Church Lady over here.

My funny little entry is over here, right below:

Blue suedes

Finally I’m out of the shop. I love to see the world!

I was made made by a machine; I am not unique – yet anyone who looks at me likes me. The soft touch. The craftsmanship. I like to be beautiful. I am often called a beauty.

I was packed alone in a neat cardboard box. That was dark. Back in the factory, there were rumors about our destinations. Some said they’d go into a large shop, some’d have preferred a small, personal shop. For me, it was indifferent.

I was tried on a few times. I never knew how would it feel - that I would feel the smell of skin, the warmth, the tingling of veins, the small adjustments of muscle tone. Balance and imbalance. I was being walked in. I covered the distance: I carried a woman from one mirror to another, yet she was carrying me, too. It was the embrace of bodies.

Ladies kept coming in and going out. At first, I loved that almost anyone got a hook on me. These women adored me. I knew I would become a catcher. But with time I changed and I longed to become a keeper, too.

And I become one today. This lady was wearing a sparkling silvery band of metal on one of her left fingers. She lifted me up and smelled the blue and I knew she was mine and I was hers. And finally, I’m out of the shop. I’m with her. Forever.

********

The story ends here - but I won't let you go away without some music. The great KDLang's doing a country song written by Bruce Cockburn.

I'm still breathing

thanks for asking - I'm still breathing...tonnes of dust.

getting a life

I think I stopped being silently obsessive about something I have no access to. Thanks StrugglingWriter, Bernita and Jason, for their sympathy, encouragement, understanding and kind explanation and similar thoughts (S.W.)

I got so overly irritated and disturbed by the disillusionment I felt on Monday evening at a website I otherwise treat with respect and almost, adorement, that it affected my relationship with real-life people. Noone deserves it, neither does my relationship.

Allright, I am also troubled by the renovation of our house. Time has started to squeeze.

My life at the moment:

Currently I'm reading Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood.

Also I'm reading many blogs... :)

I'm writing, whenever I have time and inspiration, the short story I started in February.

As a paid job, I'm working on a translation of an essay on plant protection, it'as about 10 pages.

a small break

Dear All,

we have reached a phase in our home's reconstruction, where every moment counts.

We dismantle parts of the old house to let room for the new one. How interesting this concept is, isn't it?

It involves days of working, packing, unpacking, loading and unloading.

Lots of getting dirty, oily and tired. TIRED.

It will probably involve some days' absence on my part - with a due leave.

I will probably have time to check back once in a while, though.

I think will be back with winners' announcement on the 'what's this' contest' - until that, feel free to cast you guesses and tread 'the path' - poke up the archives, if that's what you feel like doing.

Take care, smile often ... and feel gratitude for the little things you have.

Update:

The writing contest has ended. None of the entries I liked made it into the winners and except one or two, those who did, ehm, were not my favourites. Never near to those I liked. I did have a hard time choosing my fives for the 'Readers' Choice award. My favourites were - in no particular order:

# 60

# 36

# 12

# 43

# 22

# 59

and also, I liked #45, #55, #69, #73, #66 and I could name like, five or six more that really captured my imagination. Most of those I picked as my favourites are peaceful, some of them are narrated by animals themselves. Some of them are about human relationships, some about natural elements, meditation, peaceful dying...all quiet and nice.

I like Jason's site b/c of similar reasons. His poems and photograhy are devoid of aggression, modern day technology, sick people, unnecessary nudity or harrassment of any kind. Clarity. Like the title itself suggests. Like a deep breath of night air after a humid day in the city. In short, I'm shocked. That's all.

To make things clear: I did take part, and my not winning has nothing to do with my rant. I am not a native speaker and my work is sometime lame, as someone pointed out, without further reasoning. If she's listening, she might add some, belated constructive comments...?

Again, my not winning is okay with me. Of course I don't write like native speakers. I took part, enjoyed it enormously, it really did inspire me all the way. I loved it and I will be always thankful for Jason and for the writing community.

It's the selection (both Jason's and readers') that puzzles me so.

If anyone is capable of giving me some explanation, other than 'you just would not understand', please shed some light into this darkness.

back

have I become unfaithful, wandering off
too far away?
or have I stayed all the while here, but
having let your voice and steps go beside?
having locked deep inside, admiring some else?
am I to perceive well that it was you all the time and ever again?
am I to give you a call?
am I the same or am I some else, who's looking for you again?
where I am?
for you are here and have never been elsewhere away....

when my fingers reach yours

I'm home

ascend

bend down if you wish to rise

reconnecting source

the trunk of the tree you travel on

the scent of pink you inhale

the rub on your fingertips

the dripping sound of earth on earth

blackened out you'll see the light

small as you are you reach the omnipresent

dissolved into pieces you're integrated

wrapped around

you crinkle within all

Take a really close look # 3

Dear all my existing (?!) and lurking visitors, this is the third time you are invited to play 'What's this' with me.

Last time we had a photo of something CHECK BACK to see the ORIGINAL PHOTO HERE.

We had as much as 9 players with 10 guesses. I was, as constantly am, amazed by the playfulness of the human race.

For most of you, including Em, the winner of the first game, the obvious answer was 'sponge'.

Unfortunately this is not the case.

I enjoyed the fantasy of the players who suggested ripped foam, two of you suggested bread of some sort - some specified the range to basil cornbread, even. One said it was scrambled eggs.

No, no, and no.

Only one answer came close enough.

Here's a photo of the same thing, seen from a bit further:

Correct answer: A piece of limestone.

Congratulations to Beth, who said 'porous rock' - which comes closest to reality.


Okay, move on.
Here comes our third picture. Same question. I do think it is really easy now.
A what?

Occupied

Dear all, sorry for the lack of real updates.
Two reasons, in order of significance.

1. The writing contest.
It is much more interesting that I thought it could ever be. Well, I thought it would be inspiring and entertaining, but now I get to read every entry, try to comment on each. It is a challenge also. Pieces submitted by writers and aspiring amateurs, really talented ones included, are usually interesting and amazing. Some of them ring a chord inside me, some of them have such a strong imagination that seizes the reader immediately... Reading some of them makes me feel that the writer has a larger story, a whole complex behind... I have my favourites, but the contest is still open, and there more entries are added every day.

My entry is called Halo.

As I mentioned in the previous post, the photo and the suggested title (Halo) inspired me to write a second entry - which is NOT submitted. But is available to read in this blog. The title is 'When the Season Ends'. All constructive comments, good or bad are welcomed. Please make note as to which entry you refer.

2. The house project.

We are working on the renovation of our house, as I mentioned here. I give a special protective treatment to the wood we use, my husband does the jobs that require brains and/or physical strength. He has the project in his head and I figured out I'd better not to intervene. I just follow the directions and help him decide sometimes. Usually in questions like 'how wide would you like the porch' and so on.

Anyway, I would like to announce that the take a really close look quiz will return in the coming days, after the contest is closed, which is 1 August.

Halo and When the Season Ends

I am now officially entered into Jason Evan's writing competition - Halo.
My entry is lucky(?) number 13. I named my entry Halo and is available to read here.

Anyway, I suggest you visiting the contest and reading the entries. They are quite good!

As I wrote a post before, I had a little debate in my head. Now, as the contest is open, I can speak about my doubts more openly.

When I saw the photograph I imagined a dark and seemingly hopeless situation when a sudden light comes and the character(s) is (are) saved. OR where the light (hope) is there, has been always there, but the character come to realize its being there only at the end. As I said in the previous post, I was striving for a cheerful uplifting moral story. But I said to myself I was not good enough to write such a story well and began fishing for another idea.

I did not have to wait and search for much longer, and the story of the Halo was right there with me. I retouched it a few times and submitted it. This is what you can read in the competition.

Later that day another idea came into my mind, I scribbled down the plot and went to sleep. Today I wrote my second shortpiece. As only 1 piece per contestant is allowed, my second entry goes public right now and right here.

***************

When the Season Ends

This way, Martha, the path’s wider here.
Rob, are you sure this is where we should be going?
It’s less dense.
I thought our anniversary trip would take us to the clearing but all I see is branches crossing branches again. I tripped over the third time.
How’re your knees?
How should they be at 76?
We’ll be there soon.
Like you know the way. All those years you kept bringing me to dense forests.
Haven’t we always, found the way out, Martha, please.
I know, I know. The journeys have been beautiful.
Oh.
What was that, Rob? Your heart? Have you forgot the medicines?
Well, no… I did.
Not again. And you should be taking them in every 3 hours. Rob? Rob!
I’m allright.
We lost the way and you’re without pills. Just our luck.
Come on I’m strong. I’ve always been.
Rob, you’re making so much effort. Always.
For you and for us, Martha.
What berries did you say the clearing was full of? Ouch.
Let me lift you.
I can manage.
Let me.
Stop, Rob. I’m allright. No, I’m not. My head’s bleeding.
Let’s move just a bit more to over there. I can see the light now.
I can hardly speak. I am weak. It is the sun? Oh, it’s been always up in the sky, hasn’t it?
Yes.
Would you hold my hand again?
I always would, always.
Rob, I’m tired.
Sleep a bit, I will hold your hand.

The Sun illuminated the clearing.

***************

And I will soon add here a little poll to see your opinion about the two pieces. The pollsite I'm using is down at the moment. Arrgh. In the meantime - feel free to leave a message, be it approval or words of dissatisfaction. Honesty is valued over here:

Readers and writers unite

This entry is about the two groups I'm in at the moment.

The first is a readers' group, organized by Mark. The aim (surprise, suprise!) is to read and discuss a book. The first session was about Kazuo Ishigiro's Never Let Me go, which left me quite unimpressed. The plot was sort of interesting, but the writing and escpecially the characters did not really touched me. Now we have a book I like much, much more, although I'm only on page 87. It's Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake.

This is the second book I read from M.A. - the first one was 'The Handmaid's Tale' - which was a surprise present from Anniina. I will always be thankful for her for sending me the book.

If you like reading and debating the book, I suggest you joining our reading circle. For more information, ask Mark.

And the writers' group was called upon by Jason Evans, who, from time to time organizes writing contests. He posts a photo, suggests a title and sets the world count limit. The rest is ours to figure out.

I like his poetry and photos quite much and I thought I might try entering the contest with a short piece. According to the rules of the contest I can not publish my 250- words here BEFORE the contest is over. (So in case you'd be excited about reading my entry - you'll have to be patient.)

All I can say is ... (Jason, if you happen to read this post, please stop reading from here ****) Thanks. Anyone else, just keep on reading if you please.

******

The photo is inspiring. 'Halo', the suggested title, also.

(No, Jason, you really should stop reading this entry from this line on.)

At first, I had something really nice and uplifting in my mind. Like a moral story of a sort. An illuminating one. Then something else crept in. I think the first idea was better and I might still write it later on - but I'm not really good at the style I thought would fit that first idea. The second idea is sort of good, but not that *OMG, that's really good*. I don't know. Will I rewrite totally? Will I try writing out the first idea in that particular style anyhow?

I am unsure. I have some more days to come.

Although I wrote in on 25 july, I will submit it only a day before the deadline to allow myself some more revising.

The third litter

Hajas has done it again! This time there are 7 chicklets.

There were 11 eggs at the beginning. And one was added, without our knowing, later on - this, of course, went crap. 2 proved to be infertile, so there were 3 craps. Two of the babies died. Oh, the horror. Let me explain.

On Sunday morning we found Hajas behaving oddly. She was just sitting and panting, barely opening her eyes. Was it exhaustion? Heat? Some illness?

We thought the eggs would all die if she went ill.

Well, we tried to subsitute Hajas with Lepke, an old hen in the hope that she would sit just for one or two more days on the eggs.

The result? She broke one of the eggs. The underdeveloped chiclet died, of course. Plus, the no-so-good-at-subsituting-the-real-mother Lepke defecated on all the eggs. So, I tried to clean them and... broke one egg again. The underdeveloped white Turken baby died. Whew.

In our last hopes, we put Hajas back on the eggs and tried to make her feel better - by cleaning the house, by giving more ventillation: leaving the door ajar through the night. My husband slept outside, beside the house to repel predators from entering the hen house. Some of you might remember 18 December... Well, we did, and that's why he slept in a sleeping bag in the crunchy lawn.

And today, on Tuesday, here's what we saw:

All the 7 are here in one photo. There is one Turken (at the far left. S/he's turning her head back to adjust the feathers. and below is Hajas with one of the babies.

Well done.

- the photo above is just the way I was able to manage to change 'my photo'. From a blurred photo of a forest road I have now this one of a tree on the edge of a forest :)

How hawt would you wish to be?

Don't think that THIS much hot, let me tell you right away.
This past Saturday we went for a small biking tour with my husband. This was a surprise treat, a reward for our hard work in the house-project and for I kept bragging about never being alone, just the two of us, never going AWAY, for something challenging, nice and romantic... His mother slept over for the occassion at our house so that we could start off early. And by early we were to start at 5 or 6 AM, the latest. Fact: Got up at 6 AM. Had breakfast, managed chicken and did some other chores around the house (why, oh why on the morning of a great trip I ask?).

Well, we started at 8 AM, so we decided to have a shorter trip and headed for a nearby lake. It was a 45 minutes' cycling away. On arriving I was repelled by the high entrance fee and by how a small and quiet lake is destroyed by painful attempts at making it look like a 'beach' (Some common sense is clearly lacking here!!)

If you have a quiet lake in a soft-curved valley, why not enjoy it as it is? Beaches are for seashores, aren't they? Mountain rivers should be mountain rivers and should not be converted into underground caves. Likewise with peaceful lakes. Beach? Something they are clearly not. I hope I can get my message through.

I was pissed off by the lame decorations and just about everything about this beach project.

So, we decided to go back home, but instead of cycling on the dangerous side of a motorway we wanted to cut through fields and forests.

Which is quite a romantic idea and is a feasible one, too. My husband has done this tour. The area is quite familiar for both of us, too.

The way from the lake (I refuse to call it a beach) was quite uphill but nice. See the horses? At one point, we were looking at another valley below. The town we live in is to the left, hidden behind another set of smaller hills. The tower at about 9 o'clock is on the far side of the town.
Here's the shortest way - we decided to get home as quick as possible because of the heat. As some of you might have heard we have a horrible weather these days. Theoretically, Hungary's average temperature is 11 degrees celsius, meaning that in the summer it is an average of 25 degrees. Now these numbers must surely be fixed for when I was a kid and a teen, 30 was considered abnormally hot. Now, these days we're experiencing 40. The grass in our garden is crunchy under our feet. Most of the plants just simply wilt. The chicken keep their mouth open all the time to get some ventillation and a false promise of fresh air.

So, this is the way we should have done:

But instead, we went:

It involved going up and down again, places with quicksand so hot that a beaten-up egg would probably have been boiled within, and so quick that we had to get off and push our way. Most of the time the path was out of the forest (meaning no shadows) and quiet of wind (no refreshing breeze).

Actually, we got lost and ended up in another village near to our hometown. When making our way between the two settlements, we ran into two dead ends - and although in the latter we found a short-cut to a good road, the junction road proved to be just a small path among trees and bushes and I tripped over my bike and fell into the dirt. During the day we met two menacing dogs, none of them made real harm to us, fortunately.

By the time I got home I felt my brain throbbing out of my ears. The back of my palms were glowing with sweat. And I am not that type of person who has fat on her hands.

I spent some considerable time under the shower... It did take me minutes to take away my hotness from me.

Now, laugh at my romantic excursion. My reward trip. My escape - switched into survival mode.

take a really close look - a QUIZ

I had a little photo quiz here, some time ago.

We have a winner, Em, who guessed that it was a jawbone. Thanks for all who competed and congratulations for Em for guessing it right.

And here's the proof. It's a head we found in the nearby forest. It was a no-brainer to take it home. Update: it is a head of a female deer. And... here's the SECOND QUIZ in this series.

The question again, is: What do you see?

hard workers

These days we have been working hard on making the house-building project move forward a bit. Quite a bit, I'd say.

My husband was putting isolation panels on the surface of the walls from the outside. This is the part of our house that was built during the fall of 2005, by those two precious hands of him.
I was giving protection treatment to the windows yet to be installed. Photographed is one of the smallest windows. These are untreated, with raw plain wood windows, although the glass is double, with an airless space in between the 4mm-thick glasses.

We give the wood the traditional treatment: first comes the copper-sulphate, which is against fungal infection. This gives a nice blue-ish color to the wood. Unfortunately, said sulphate is in a solution of ammonia. Coughs, anyone? This material goes right into your eyes and seems to go out through your ears. Arrgh. Yet, I liked it - for the change it made to the wood. It emphasizes the veins and gives an overall '50yo-looking' feeling to it. In this picture, I start the process at the down right corner of the window. Notice the brush's tip. The second part of wood protection (NOT pictured) is the flax-seed oil. This phase is much easier, though less beautiful.

Home-schooling

This one goes out to Leigh. And to whoever else is interested in the homeschooling of my son. Also included: my rough notes on modern-day medicine.

Leigh asked me why I had to home-school my son.

My son has quite a history. At the middle of his fourth year he was in his fourth class, which, considering we never moved anywhere in these four years, is a bit too much for an average children. Which he is, of course, not.

He's alert, almost all the time in seek of something to occupy his mind. He's bright and when he's interested, he gathers information quickly. When he's not, nothing seems to be able to move him. That is what I see the core of problems.

Some say he's got AD/HDD (attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder) - no professional proof of that. We did not let him undergo tests to either prove or disprove this condition. Basically b/c I did not see any advantage of him being labelled as such. In Hungary, it is almost impossible to find a special school for these kids and at 'normal' schools labelled kids have misfortunate lives. Although the school he's now in advertises to provide a special treatment for ad/hdd kids, which involves a therapy with an expert, I have never seen the evidence of actual treatments, or rather put it this way, therapeutic sessions.

The second reason I rejected him having labelled is the pressure towards medication.

While many of my readers, residing anywhere in the world, may find taking medications just as easy and mundane as taking out the garbage bin or doing the laundry, for us, this is not the case. By 'us', I referred to my family. We do not take painkillers, I am not on the contraceptive pill as well. I have a firm belief that there are other, more natural ways to find remedy when it is needed.

Some of my son's classmates are on constant medication - be it Ritalin or anything else... I shrug at the mere idea of giving a drug to my son that ALTERS, INFLUENCES him.

I wish to solve the problem, if there is a problem at all, without artificial things.

I refrain from telling my opinion about modern day medicine - I bet you guess it must be somewhere between low and very-very low.

Schooling Story.

He started his first year in School 1.

Soon after starting school he was bullied, which he endured for a while, but broke out and became aggressive after a while. Soon he showed signs of aggressivity even when he was not hurted. He lost his interest in studying and became obsessed with kids being aggressive against him. His failed to perform up to his capacities. His drawings consisted of war, bloodshed, violence. Deep precipices, falling, aggression, death. Please note that we do not have a tv so he was unable to get those motifs from the films! A kid, especially a boy might draw things like that. But not all the time. This was not normal, we had to step in.

School 2.

The local Waldorf School.

The amount of acceptance he was given here healed our son. His drawings, ta-da, became normal again. He became a peaceful, loving kid.

For a while.

After that, he was bored. If you have been to a lesson in a Waldorf school you know what I'm talking about. I also was asked to sit through some of his lessions to check his behaviour. I was more than bored to tears myself.

No wonder he was bored. The teacher, although she was a loving creature herself, rejected the idea of giving my son some extra duties, some things he can work his mind on.

We parted School 2 with love, we still have the friendships we made there, the connections are alive.

School 3.

The local school, which is the nearest to our home.

We took our son here at the middle of the 3rd grade, when he was out from the Waldorf school. After a lengthy and interesting talk with his new teacher we decided not to introduce him in the middle of a school year - so he was homeschooled for the rest of the 3rd grade.

Coming from a Waldorf school I had no idea of what to teach him - but the teachers at this 3rd school were helpful with that. My son had to pass an exam at the end of the year to proove that he's elilgible to enter Grade 4 and I trained him to the exams. For your interest: there are not such exams in our school systems. It is especially for those who are home-schooled.

I taught him every day, covering Mathematics, Geography of Hungary, Hungarian Grammar, Hungarian Reading and Biology. I taught him for what was expected him at the exams. Each time his interest grew beyond, I followed him of course.

This is how his 3rd grade ended and at the 4th grade, he started as a 'normal' student.

School 3, Class 'b'.

He started as a normal student, but he was put into the class with all the 'problem kids'. Some of them are aggressive, some of them are the underachieving type (let me not say morons or idiots, but....) And yes, some of them are medicated. He soon developed conflicts with the kids and began disturbing the work of the class again. Nevertheless, his mates were not the accepting type, either. He just did not fit in. They rejected him, he rejected them.

I guess he had enough of the whole school thing by now.

From time to time he had to spend days or weeks at home, homeschooled. The teacher, with whome we developed a friendly relationship, showed me what lessons are to taught and I taught my son. He wrote exams at the end of all the home periods. He wrote them relatively well. He did have some hard times though, for example at the Waldorf school there are no lessons for home, but which is an everyday task in a normal school. My son have not developed a sense of duty to prepare homework, but that trait is a must in schools. That was tough.

School 3, Class 'a'.

At the middle of the 4th grade teachers and the director of the school decided to put my son into the parallel class. Here, most of the kids are 'normal', I mean, some of them are great, some of them are not-so-much, but nothing special. Except one or two, but that is okay.

He started doing much better here, but every now and then there are days when the teacher asks me to let him have at home, instead of sending him to school.

The reasons?

Lack of sense of duty, signs of boredom, etc.

He does not behave well, nor writes his homework and for these things he receives the worst marks. In Hungarian schools, school performance is measured by marks from 1 to 5, being the worst.

My son, according to his teachers, would perform at a level 5, or occasionally at a 'strong' 4 - but, due to his behaviour and lack of diligence, lack of homework, his marks are bordering 4 and are rather 3s.

The reason?

Lack of motivation.

There we are now, at the end of the 4th grade.

We, parents are looking forward into the 5th grade not without some fears - we pray not to show fear towards him, instead we try to encourage him and awake his sense of duty and 'normal sense'.

So, when we chose home schooling, we had no other option. The teachers were helpful and suggested me even ways of teaching and organizing a home-school day. I bet they were happier not to have my son around. Although most of the teachers seemed to have liked my son, they felt it was easier for them without him. Which is quite a shame. They chose the no-challenge option instead of the more difficult one. At the same time I know teaching my son is not easy. I know because I tried it.

The first photo was made by me, at River Tisza on 7th July, 2007. The second was by my son on 8th July, 2007.

Two haiku for one day

below, these are my / first attempts at writing a / haiku. Or two.

photos: the first: 10 July, 2007, by me in the garden, the second: 4 July, 2006, by a colleague of my husband, during work.

Haiku # 1.

Sunflowers, red beans

Summer colors' galore of

our divine painter.

*******

Haiku # 2.

Wheat carries fat seeds

Yellow meadows pant with heat

No sign of rain, yet.

a lengthy post about a short weekend PART ONE

This weekend started at 6PM Friday evening and ended at 5PM Sunday. Was not really short, or shotrer than a weekend normally is, but for us, it was short. Because we thought we would have been able to spend twice the amount of time where we were.

Location: Tiszafüred, Eastern Hungary, besides Lake Tisza. Lake Tisza is a natural formation of River Tisza. I think it should be called a backwater.

This time the village of Tiszafüred hosted the Annual 'Fish Days', which event attracts hundreds of people. This is a recurring event at every second weekend of July. There are amusement parks, sales of all kinds and various performances for the children and for the adults as well.

We spent another weekend here, more than a year ago in 2006. That visit was entirely different. At that time there weren't really much people on the beach. Now it was noisy and crowded. I had to concentrate really hard to lock out the loud music, all sorts of, coming simultenously from the various locations of supposed entertainment, and the amount of people out of my mind.

Photo 1. Friday night. Children are children. We had to, just had to pay them for a ride.

Photo 2. Saturday, early morning at the Tisza. This is the view I adored a year ago and had wished to see more of this year, too - but had not really the chance.

Photo 3. Saturday morning. We are heading for the beach. The kids ran ahead of the parents in anticipation of the events. You bet they were waiting for some artificial fun, rather than seeking the mighty river... They will learn later on what the real values are...

Photo 4. The number of free mobile toilets tells us something about the number of visitors expected to the annual Fish Days. Back in 2006, there were none of these available. There is a standard stall of toilets of course at the beach, but no mobile ones. These were put here especially for the occassion.

Photo 5: There were different types of plastic houses. Made of soft plastic, kids can jump, crawl, slide and hide within them. The Hungarians call them 'castles for jumping', but someone might help me out with the proper English term, please? This one in the photo was the cheapest one available, and kids could stay for as long as they wanted. All the other 'jumping houses' were for only 10 minutes. Here there were 3 different types of houses within the same area and there were animators to take care of the kids. They drew and played other paper games as well. The only thing is that it was a promo-house of a candy maker (see the advertisement on the side of the slide? - I don't want to type it here into the text). All the other houses were expensive b/c they did not belong to any advertisement budget of a large company. Our kids spent 2 hours here, got home with some promo material, a packet of said company - a product we never would have bought otherwise, b/c its basically atrificial crap. The problem lies here: our kids took part in the advertisement plan and enjoyed the service of a company we, the parents despise and reject on the grounds of healthy eating. We took advantage of something we otherwise take no notice of. What do you think about the ethics of our decision to send the kids here, instead of a more, much more expensive jumping house, where there are no advertisement?

Photo 6: A boxing machine. You put a coin in, push a button, the sack descends so that you can punch it, you do and your strength is measured. Again - how would you call this machine? Punch-o-meter? Pictured people are not members of my family. They are friends.

Photo 7: Sweet's galore. These were the only normal delicacies (I have not tried them though) the restwas the usual overy sugared, artificially colored and flavoured stuff you find at these places.

Photo 8: Delicious dinner of fried meat and veggies. Our host was the mother of our friend. She invited us all into her weekend house and fed us with various kinds of yummy food.

Photo 9: A show by a famous flyer. People just sat at the bank and watched the show. If you ask me, this is just a huge waste of fuel... But cute aerobatics, nevertheless. And you just should not't ask me.Photo 10: At the fun cars, again. We call it 'dodgem'. And you?

Photo 11: The inevitable bacon on a stick. Some posts ago, some of you promised to try this Hungarian treat at home. How things are going?

That's all for now.

Comment I dare you all.