k

you may have, or have not heard about this website.
at times it is downright hilarious, and at others, highly spectacular. sometimes, at its bests, it's both.
basically, it is about wrecked cakes.
-
however, this is not an advertisement.
i came accross a post.
if you have time please read it.
below is a letter i wrote to the keepers of the site, with great respect towards the jog they are doing and with great curiosity as well :)
-

dear editors/moderators,
this is a private message - you don't have to actually post it. (just contemplate...)
english is not my native language, i think you got it by now :)
i had no trouble of whatsoever of finding 'spooky' where the wreckerator wrote 'spooy' instead.
i have read quite a number of comments, possibly from native speakers of english.
none of them seemed to have found the connection between spooy and spooky.
they all come up with fun explanations and suggestions.
no-one mentions 'spooky'. not ever.
please, i am seriously intrigued by now:
how come this?
why me - and no-one else?
you may leave a reply in a comment over one of my websites (BOTH are in english) for i will ask my readers, too about this strange phenomenon.
thank you for your attention and keep up the good work.

NaNoWriMo 2010

anyone participating this year too?
this November i'm aiming to do quite a progress in my novel called Copper Moon.
i don't feel obliged to die trying to write 50,000+ words, though.
i'm just trying to write.
-
usually i write when i have the inspiration.
now i'm trying to get it the other way round. i'll just see how it works out.
-

photos from Köln (Cologne, Germany)

this was my third time in Köln and to be honest, i feared of being bored.
to entertain myself i figured out an objective:
we received a map of the inner city on the bus. it looked like a copy from a guide-book. there were small buildings drawn onto the streets.
i looked at the map and aimed for the furthest possible sight.
i bought nothing as a memory during the 3 hours i had in Köln. that was not my purpose.
the purpose was to get to the furthest possible sight, and i made it :)))

i reached it safely and got back in time to the bus.

-

and while other people wandered in small groups, i wandered alone. perhaps no one was able to keep pace, mwah-hah-hah :))
-
the streets of Köln offers a galore of various food for the hungry...

anyone else fascinated by the metal structure, heh? just look at the great arch of the ceiling. and the shining. also displayed is the famous 'ice' train.
it looks like a double-decker train for me :)

uhm, some more light and metal and shiny surface. uhm, did i just say metal?

well, food again.
during the 24 h bus trip i ate nothing but fruits and drink nothing but water. i did it on purpose - uhm, well, roadside toilets are uhm, well... i didn't want to feel stuffed and not being able to get some uhm, natural relief... and also i wanted to avoid eating for boredom. so i chose not eating instead. it wasn't my first fruit-day. i do it about every month or two months.

i found that architects of Köln have a strange habit: they tend to hide nice building between modern and ugly ones. this is quite an old church, but they managed to cover it from the eager eye. more exhibits to this notion later on, when i post my photos about the dome.


this is the entrance to the same church. poetic, almost, isn't it?
over the years i have this tendency to picture doors. and windows. i think it's related to my love of translation and being (almost!!, but never perfectly!) bi-lingual.
a door, a window, that leads another side. fascinating.

ta-daaa.
THIS building was the furthest one on the map. anyone any idea about it? when and who and why?


-
on the health side:
i got my set of false teeth. this is supposed to subsitute my old (natural) ones while i'm waiting for the implantation. as this is an artificial object in my mouth i keep drooling, which is dislike quite a bit.
they say the more i use it the more i will get used to it. according to hopes i will be producing less less saliva over time.

off goes 4

if you think the title of this post has no meaning then go ask me what the meaning of falling off balance to loose 4 teeth at once was.

for they once were.

in my upper jaw.

off they jumped.

or rather, broke.

and i am broken now.

for most of the part, financially.

or will be when the dentist bills me for the implants.

my smile: past tense

i can not eat properly.

i can not speak properly. i miss/mispronounce 'z', 's', 'f' - to name a few.

but for most of all, i can not attend the choir.

well, friendship is one thing, but no one really wants to see a freak opening a mouth that has a huge hiatus in it, does anyone?

so, that is the news.

-

in other words, i'm looking for new jobs like crazy.

those dental replacements will cost a fortune, insurance will pay only a tiny amount of the bill.

but the math goes like this: i am 40 and i am expected to live for at least another 40.

and on the other side of the equilibrum i see a long line of simple dishes, and renovations that go even slower in the foreseeable future.

we needed a new set of tiles in the bathroom for example.

allright, the dentist will fix it into my upper jaw.

we needed a garden path (now we have only dirt road from the gate to the front door).

allright, the dentist will fix it into my upper jaw.

i think you get the idea ;)

-

the photos will be up some time later on.

-

cheers,

back to the routine again

i'm home, reading and writing.
i'have finished a paid job, and on my way to go for another...
i go out a lot to the garden, tend the chicken, pick up walnuts, chop firewood...
-
photographical recollection of my trip will be coming soon.

arrival

this is about the time our bus arrives back to my hometown.
i am too tired to post photos about the trip right now.
i am either sleeping or having a hot shower before sleeping, or having a shower of small presents to my family :)))
my kids expect me to bring some stroepwaffels...
-
cheers,
real posts will come soon - like in a couple of days... as soons as i am not sleeping anymore...
zzzzzz...

we are heading back home

all things packed back again, with my luggage being a bit heavier with some packages of stroepwaffels and vla...

(i will make photos of them)

the bus leaves....

can you see me waving goodbye to our dear hosts, to The Netherlands ... ?

friday evening

whooo-hooo.
i think at around this time we are having a great farewell party organized by the Dutch people.
it's a nice evening meal with music.
basically, an event for informal gathering.
can you see me dancing?
-

special programmes

for friday, we are visiting a local school and have a meeting with the local women's organization. it was here in 2008 that i got the idea to do mosaic at all.

-

reaching Amsterdam

and meeting Bart :)

last time (in 2008) he took me to a nice Buddhist temple and after that, we just strolled along the fascinating streets of the capital. since the river Amstel goes criss-cross all over the inner town, almost every street is a walk on the riverside. this structure is part artificial and was created during the late XIX., early XX. century i suppose.

-

much to Bart's surprise, i was really specific about my activities in 2010 here. this is my fourth visit to the city :)

we plan tovisit some great places like the market, a museum and perhaps a little bar...

-
at the evening the bust takes us back to Wageningen.

reaching Wageningen

by this time i think we have reached our main destination.

at the town center, a short meeting is organized to welcome us, and then the guests depart with their hosts to the houses of the hosts to get some rest after the looooong bus ride.

-

the evening is free - we usually spend it walking in the streets, or in the forest nearby, some visit bars and restaurants, some have a quiet family dinner.

-

i am staying with an extremely friendly couple. they are middle aged and have already put me up in 2006 and in 2008.

whenever i think of the little room in the attic of their house, it feels like thinking of a summer house that somehow belongs to me as well. i kind of feeling like coming home there as well.

:)))

last year, in 2009 we hosted the man of this family in our house.

reaching Köln in Germany

about this time we are supposed to have reached Köln (Cologne).
here's a link to some photos from our 2008 trip.

off to the Netherlands

dear all,
i am away for a couple of days.

when this post appears our bus is about to cross the Hungarian-Austrian border.

we are travelling north, going through Austria and Germany to reach The Netherlands after a tiresome 24-hour bus ride.

until i return the upcoming few post are scheduled.

-

as i type now, the washing machine is on and i still have my clothes unpacked for the trip.

i still have lots of things to do (like writing some more pre-shceduled posts.)

-

among many other stuff, i am packing my camera, a good pair of walking shoes for all occasion (be it rainy or sunny), and two books, a sleeping bag and a thick pillow for the bus, and a flower pot i decorated with mocaic. the latter item is a present for my Dutch hosts. i know they have lots of flowers so i think they'll like this hand-made surprise.

-

here's a photo of the mosaiced flower pot. that is my hand to give you an impression of the size of the pot.

without further ado...

1-
this blog has reached its fifth birthday on 30 august :)))
2-
between 28 september and 3 october i'm leaving for the netherlands: wageningen again.
the trip will take us to a women's organization and we will possibly visit a school.
on one of the days we will visit amsterdam, where i am to meet bart again :))
3-
on 27 november i will attend a reading. the event will be organized by an online writers' group i joined this march. i made some new friends and i will read a poem by one of them. he is a man in his early sixties with a serious hearing loss, so he would be unable to do the recital himself.
i am still hesitating about reading one of my writings ... :)
4-
the japan institute of budapest is having a haiku contest. the deadline is 30 september and a contestant can send in as much as two haiku :)))
i have written only six :)))
but i think i will be able to select two of them.
oh, my :)))
i wish i had like a hundred....
you know what is really interesting?
this contest is a themed one - and the theme is 'summer'.
believe it or not, all my hungarian haiku, yes, all the six are about summer....
:))))
wish me luck :)
5-
vesper has finished reading halo. some of my remarks are posted here.

inspired by a photo #2

to take a look at Ewen's another inspiring photograph GO HERE
-
and here's my version.
-
horizons

to connect the earth and the sky
first he drew a line with a sigh
he planted hope into the earth
and let the rain weep for our birth

-----
if the same photo inspires you in any way, please leave a comment.
have fun!

the seventh cousin

dearest Örs Domonkos,
the smallest boy in the family,
be blessed,
let us be blessed by you,
for angels must have carried
you all the way from heavens,
for you came peaceful, quiet,
flying on puffs of feathers,
this very morning.
six brothers and sisters,
two parents, five grandparents,
two cousins, an uncle and I, your auntie
and friends
- we all have been waiting for you.

this to your long and healthy life!

socializing event

in hungary you basically will never find those no-fence, lawn-frontyard, come-to-my-house setting that are so common in certain parts of the usa. we all have tend to have high, strong fences, where most of the fences are so formed that you just can't see through them.

-

for an unexperienced foreigner this expressed need for safety may seem an unfriendly, a get-outta-my-place attitude.

i know that there is alienation, but not where i live :)
where i live and in many other communities, where the original hungarian hospitality is still alive, this is just the surface.

-

i have already mentioned some of the activities (like plum jam, see the post below) we, the community that has formed in our street do together.

and now, i'm going to illustrate another event: a street party.

-

there is a street just one street up from ours, where people do parties every year. this year it was the 8th gathering. they set up a large tent for stage performances , they bring tables with snack food on them, they make a large pot of goulash enough for at least 40-50 people. they gather in the evening and enjoy the performances. the night ends with dancing. it is usually rock and roll, or disco-whatever.

now this year, our community was invited to take part.

we rehearsed and came up with a performance that lasted about 20 minutes. we sang three folksongs - the one we chose were funny.

after that we improvised a short folk-tale, where there were three princesses (played by three of the little girls, one of them, the biggest was my daughter), an old king (played by one of the fathers) and a dragon (*coughs*). the story was highlighted by musical performances: traditional flutes and a doromb. (i don't know if that one has an english name at all...)

we needed three boys to make all ends meet, so we borrowed them from the audience. they enjoyed their role-playing. we received lots of applause and laughter.

-

after our performance we stayed to watch others. there was a trio that played classical music on instruments, a play making fun of the story of Cindarella, and various singing activities.

-

we arrived as one group and left as one, too.

-

this is my husband and my daughter minutes before our performance has begun. you may want to click on the photo to see her hairdo better. this hairdo is quite common for folk dancers. dh is sporting a linen shirt with a straw hat. this combo is a traditional menswear in hungary.

this is us, our family, having some fun - my son is not dancing, for he was engaged in bicycling with his friends. no, i'm not having digestive problems :) - i think we were dancing the twist. my husband and my daughther were keen on dancing. i simply got tired :)
also pictured: the other two princesses, and the stage-tent in the background.

plum jam

dear all,
we are done.
it lasted for three days.
one for travelling to the plum orchard (located at a farm), picking and collecting from under the trees.
one for pitting the crop.
one for making the jam.
three days, four families, loads of fun. tiredness.
a plum jam made the traditional way, a jam that contains nothing but the fruit. no sugar, no preservatives, nothing else, but plum. worth quite much.
will please four families throughout the winter.
sunshine bottled for the hazy days.
this to the friendship between the four families.

photos from ukraine

hey all,

my husband and my daughter has joined a group of tourists who visited southwestern ukraine in early august. for some wiki-info about the location: click here. in the meantime, my son stayed out with friends and i had the chance to polish off a job i've done in late july.

-

here are some photos of the trip, enjoy.

this is the view from the room. they slept there for two nights.


they were hiking in the woods.

there were lots of blueberries within the forest, but once they got atop the mountains, they found a meadow loaded not only with flowers, but with lots of raspberries (not pictured here).

this part of ukraine is partly a mountaneous area. the slopes face south which makes the villages down at the foot of the hills able to produce various kinds of agricultural produce. i was meant to say that although the hills are high the climate is not a typical mountain one.

my daughter sitting on a moss-covered trunk. she enjoys being in a forest and has a keen eye to discover all the secrets of it. she is always to first to spot the only mushroom or strange flower in a 15 meter radius. she will either be a researcher or an artist. or both.

the river somehow slows down at the bottom.

these are the ruins of a castle of kanko, where kanko is a small village. hm, that's not very informative...

i wish i had been there, too!

cheers,

watching the water

she paints her nails, can you get used to it?
she is now your wife, can i get used to it?


the first 40 years of my life are leaving me.


a boat, loaded full is leaving the bay. some waves return, run up the shore, up to the rocks, the waves carve into the rocks and return back again to the water.

the waves are getting smaller.

the boat is getting smaller, its figure is getting harder and harder to notice in the distance.


you are on that boat.
i am on the shore.


the second 40 years of my life has just begun. and i think it's just time we talked.

bad and good

about the contest.

-

the contest is over.

i have read so many great pieces. the pre-selection made judgement easier for the judges and the readers as well.

i retreated and was reluctant to read further on once i was cast out - and i know that's bordering nasty. for some of the time i don't do well in team-building.

i tend to go alone, like a lone hunter...

-

but i digress.

i loved to read so many uplifting and thought-provoking pieces. i loved that there were some poetry and some of the non-poetry pieces were quite poetic as well.

i loved sometimes the warm tone, the irony and the character building in the stories i voted for.

i loved to see myths created.

there was one among the many that stood out for me.

it literally made me sick. it was ranked high.

but i'm not going to continue on this matter.

-

you know... when you do something great, and you do it poorly, you are still making good. you are adding to all the good in the world.

and when you do something bad and you do it well, you are doing bad.

-

but hey, i'm just an old fashioned, tradition-loving conservative who loves to believe that despite all the wrong that's been done and is being done right now as you read these lines (if you do, if anyone does, that is ;) there's love and justice after all in this world.

-

about my entry in particular.

i am sorry not to have entered into the elite-club ;) but jason was right about his decision - no problems with that.

rhyming is not easy, not easy in one's mother tounge, let alone in a second language.

i tend to think the backstory of my entry was weak and i have not worked enough on it. i wanted to write a parabole (hm?) but it needs more working done.

that's all :)

-

unblanketed

this was my entry for Jason's and Stephen's contest named 'uncovered'. entering is now closed.

Jason was sorry not to have found this entry eligible for the contest, qoute: [...] the danger of rhyme is that it's exceptionally hard to make it look natural and effortless. In this poem, phrasings are often bent and strained for the purpose of the rhyme, and that makes the technique detract from the substance, rather than enhance it. The last stanza, however, was superb. You are never short on bravery, Szelsofa, and I have such respect for that! -

i am especially proud of the first part of the last sentence :)))

because i do like experiencing with new formulas.

and Jason's right - at some places the meaning, the sequence of the word gets twisted for the sake of rhyming. which is not a sure sign of good poetry... :S

well, at least i gave it a try....

in the past years i have entered at least four of Jason's contests - this was my fifth attempt i guess. out of the five contests i have made my way into the final fourties only once.

Unblanketed

‘got a bruise on my finger
that may never heal
the pain is set to linger
do you care to feel?

I used to have a wooden box
that I filled with my precious things.
I hid the box under the rocks -
it was the chamber of the kings.

I used to go there every morn’
to watch the marching of the knights -
the glory of their costumes worn
took away my fears of the nights.

I used not to mention my place,
the secret world to anyone
but one kid came, a happy face
my former joyeous life was gone.

He said he liked it – but he lied;
pointing fingers at me, laughter
from the kids as I nearly died -
and I stayed closed ever after.

Closed within walls, safe from the world
silence has become my blanket,
I touched no-one, as no-one stirred
me, nor the peace of my casket.

Years passed by, the mould on my wall
grew thick with age, dry with sorrow,
the flowers of mind learned to crawl
to survive, hope for tomorrow.

One day there was thyme in the breeze
felt like spring, though it was winter,
he offered his heart on his knees
my wall has begun to splinter.

summer news

dear all,

we are working on the house again, renovating.

building is done but now we have smaller tasks to complete such as cleaning up one room, plastering its walls and making a wooden floor.

sure we'll do it all by ourselves.

even if it means that a work that lasts an hour for a specialist is done for a couple of days. because we do it more carefully and yes, with less expertise. so... like trial and error, you know.

-
in the meantime, Jason at the clarity of night's having a contest. have a peek and read the entries. i will have my own entry, provided it makes into the final 40s.

to which my chances are low.

well.

that's what i've got :)

-
cheers,
szf

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 two

if you are just joining this mini-series, this is the second part and may or may not stand alone.
i suggest you reading part one first.
also, you are welcomed to read the introduction as well.



2.

Nightlights.
Slippers.
Warm tracksuits.
A hot tea in a black mug.
Internet.
Road 44.
10 November 2007.
Fog, with occassional showers.
Early morning, low visibility.
Horse-driven wagon.
A jumper.
Car.
Multiple passings.
Slipping.
Lack of baby seat.
Responsibility.
Irresponsibility.
July 2008.
Single mother.
Alone.
Violence debarred.

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.

foreword to 'Homeward bound'

within a week i will post my latest short story called 'Homeward bound'.

it is loosely inspired by some music and a movie.

i wrote it in Hungarian and the version published here is my translation. it totals to 1200+ words.

if you have any trouble understanding the reason behind a certain selection of word, word order, verb tense or style, just let me know. i probably have done something wrong and your help is much appreciated.

-

it is about a journey.

there's not much going on there in the surface, it's merely a reflection, but some parts are autobiographical.

the major tragic elements are just made up ones.

sometimes we wish it was just easy, don't we?

-

there are three parts to it.

which is a bit strange - were there only one part, the story would make a small, stand-alone writing.

the short second part adds a twist to it.

you probably will notice that the third part is not necessary. i had some difficulties finishing it at first, but i came to like it at the end.

you be the judge.

-

the journey begins tomorrow, have fun.

inspired by a photo #1

Ewen's great photography is found here.
and here's my take on this particular PHOTO:
------
the king

grass grows where balls were held,
bridges, cities grew upon command;
defeated and expelled,
the king contemplates his former land.
-----
if the same photo inspires you in any way, please join us in the comments section.
I'll continously update this post with your versions.
have fun!

breaking news:flood

the following picture is from Budapest, the capital of Hungary - as far as I know there are no casualties or irreparable damages there.

this is not the case in the country.

people, most of them volunteers, have been working continously by rivers, small and large alike.

family houses and agricultural fields disappeared just within a matter of hours.

a great event i'm not attending

erm...
this is a short film about the upcoming Pest Megyei Szala (Szala of Pest County, where szala is an ancient Hungarian word rarely, if at all, used nowadays, with a meaning of 'assembly', or 'gathering'; that is, of a nation.)
this video gives you a glimpse of this festival, where old traditions are displayed. it is quite a dense video, with lots of different elements of our old heritage are shown by people who practice these things on a regular basis.
i hope you'll like it.

-

my husband will attend the event by holding a small lecture on the role of traditions in our thoughts. unfortunately i can't be there, for i am travelling out of the border to the town of Nagyszalonta. the town used to be a Hungarian town for a thousand years, but it now belongs to Romania. Arany János, one of the greatest Hungarian poets was born here. Arany wrote a number of great ballads, based on Hungarian history and folklore. he is also famous in Hungary for translating the works of William Shakespeare. i read Shakespeare in both languages, and although I've got some difficulties understanding the original version, the Hungarian version has an excellent and noble language, too. Here's a link to one of his ballads called 'The Bards of Wales'.

-

the reason i'm travelling there is that our choir is to sing at a mass in a church on Sunday morning. i'm so excited about it :)