Hot summers and humidity

The story of the skirt relates to the time I was working in a bank.  My female co-workers just nodded their head when I answered "Madame T" after having been asked my name.  I did not know that French Canadians, at that time, addressed each other by their given name, used 'tu' on the first meeting and expected to hear me say "Ellena".    Bad start, I was considered to be the arrogant newcomer from Europe.       
I gave the girls an occasion to get back at me when I told them that I want my circle skirt to stand out in a circle as wide as their skirts and asked what to do about it short of inserting whatever it was they inserted into the hem of the underskirt.  Their kind advice was  "wash, rinse in sugar water and dry in sun". Smart- me did so.                                                   
The little branch of big TD bank was not air-conditioned then.  Do I need to explain what happened on the day where heat and humidity climbed extremely high?  Sitting in place all afternoon was a very sweaty/sticky situation.

Soon after and shortly prior to leaving the bank, I realized that I had become a trusted and in their eyes experienced friend.  One of the girls was getting married and asked me specific questions concerning the night of the wedding, another girl came back from their honeymoon and shared with me that her husband asked her to do such and such and did I think it was OK.  A young man walked me home after work, talking about Elvis P. whom I had hardly heard about, to then casually pose questions concerning abortion.  I was not much help to any of them being very uncomfortable talking about personal matters but, I was pleased that I had made friends that trusted me.  

 Today is the first time that I notice the man sleeping on the bench but Pasha always makes me smile the way she moves proudly down the catwalk with purse on arm.

(Shaking my head in disbelief that I bought a purse for her). 

 

???

This is for whomever had not seen it 2 years ago and especially a riposte to RR's comment on my last post.

          The cologne
          Splashed over his face and neck
          In the morning
          Well fitting suit with buttons of same cloth
          Tie in place
          Well heeled

          Nothing could cover the smell of
          Anxiety and depression

          His hands very soft
          His eyes piercing
          Blue ring circling brown iris

          What were his thoughts
          On his 7 km daily long walks
          From the small hamlet
          To the nearby town

          Umbrella in hand in case...
          "skata spiri" (shitty pimpleface) when unhappy with me
         
          I do not know my father

Take away the chain and add umbrella is 100% him even the face.

A ray of sunshine

Yesterday was my what I call 'biblio day'.

We are three female volunteers guided by Goldie Locks, our librarian.

Since the library is closed to the public when our gang is at work, I was surprised to see a nun standing at the counter talking with Goldie Locks.  No idea who heard the knock on the glass of the door and who was allowed to let her in and less of an idea as to the content of the conversation that I observed since I can't find any time to get my hearing checked.  I am only 7 steps away from the counter and and all else that is happening around me is also very close it being a small library but, when I work I usually concentrate on what I am doing and it being the monk's job that was assigned to me, I was minding my business, did not notice that the nun was gone nor ask why she had come in.                     Then, as the lawn mover started his usual Thursday-moan, and as I lifted the blinds away from the window to sneak a look outside to see how far lawn manicure had advanced it is this that came into my view and made me grab my camera. 

A ray of sunshine that will last me till next biblio day.

picture taken through window in front door

Nuns bring good memories back to me.  

The architecture of the Kansas City Public Library 




inspired a group of young people to create this in Russia.



I wish they were my snapshots.

A spot

This is the culprit.  A spot in a bathroom tile.

Ever since I moved into this apartment 6 years ago this spot in a faulty bathroom tile causes me to be troubled and not only when I do my house cleaning.  Seeing this is as bad as seeing each dust particle flying in the air through the rays of sunshine inside my apartment.  Nothing I can do about these bothersome things short of putting the blinds down or changing the tile or tell myself how lucky I am to have nothing more to fret about.
Finally today I opted for the last-mentioned after I had proceeded to clean the next room where I banged my head on an open cupboard door.  Whenever I bang my head I question the thoughts I was entertaining at that particular 'bang' moment and always realize that they were thoughts which I needed to stop immediately or as soon as possible.  Thoughts such as in this instance "what will people think when they see this spot?"   
My sister-in-law came out of the bathroom after her first visit to this new dwelling of mine
laughing as she was telling me that she tried to clean that spot.  

Now l look at it and see the sun and ask for more appropriate but soft head bangs.  

KAVADI

The Sivananda Ashram Yoga Camp and their Temple are nestled in the woods on the mountain across the street from here.  Yesterday they celebrated Kavadi, a religious Hindu festival.  Offering of a Kavadi  filled with self-torture and suffering at every step promises peace and good luck.
It is said that thousands of devotees attend - yes, no parking to be found in a radius of 3 km.  They drive in from near and far and all hope to be amongst the first ones to arrive in order to park as close as possible to the Ashram.  The  procession starts at 9.30 in the morning and ends at  3 in the afternoon. They walk on gravel and asphalt. 

                                             The first ones are arriving

the young ones flashed their feet in a different way

This man rolled down the entire stretch of more than 1 km paved road

and this devotee seems to have needed to impose the severest penance on himself

Maybe I should have photographed more of the beautiful dresses but I overcame my shyness to late to do so.  

  

Arriving in Canada

Laszi batchi, a friend of my Magyar husband, who had arrived in this country months earlier, was waving at us from the landing pier as we disembarked the SS Neptunia in 1956.  He took us to his apartment and suggested we walk up the street and find ourselves a room to rent until we know in which area of town we want to settle.  I had never met this man nor his German speaking wife who I later learned had left her husband and Russia some time ago with the extremely huge diamond which she wore on her finger, hidden in some part of her body.                                                                                               Magyar translated the conversations between his friend and him for me occasionally. Although we all spoke German, the two men liked to speak Hungarian with each other.... and who was I to stop them.  Apparently the area here was inviting because a young couple from Austria were living across the street and further down a Hungarian couple had moved in not long ago.  We found a room the same day not far.

Alois, our next door room-neighbour with whom we shared bathroom and kitchen facilities babysat little Pisha aka Pasha or La Puce the day I decided to get my hair cut.  I walked down our street past rooming houses, duplexes, the hole in the wall known as Chinaman's laundromat, the butcher who carried no European cold cuts, the tavern where Magyar liked to stop for a cold one but where no women were allowed to show their face.
We lived one street over to the east from the street known as the Main which divides east side from west side Montreal. I did not know that then nor was I aware of the fact that we had settled down in the red light district. Yes we had.  I was a naive 21 year old  who had no idea why men gave a second look  when I strolled down the street or when I sat on the benches in Carré St.Louis around the corner or on the steps of the rooming house with baby on lap nor did I know what I was doing when I walked into a barber shop asking for a hair cut. I think he was Italian.  I know he was handsome and polite the one that lead me to a back room, cut my hair, asked to be paid and escorted me back to the front door. 


  
  



    

???????

What the schnuck happened here?

The only thing that I knowingly did was edit words underneath my name.  All else happened by just looking at what was available.  

Did not succeed fixing it so will leave it alone for now.

45 years ago

I shall do a bit of what I set out to do with this blog.  Triggered by the word 'sleep paralysis'.

she and  the Magyar had decided to divorce.  He had moved out and she and her daughter remained in the home till end of the school year.  The past few months had been extremely unpleasant.    

Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, she opens her eyes and freezes.  She sees his dresser and the chair besides the dresser. He is sitting on the chair doing what she had seen him do for many years.   She can hear the crackling sound of the starched shirt as he bends forward to pull his socks off one by one.  Slowly, as he used to do it, and the starch continues to make itself known.  It is incredibly real real real.  Real to the extend that she can also hear the usual sounds of his labored breathing. 

Although a harmless event to witness, she is terrified and feels completely paralysed.
He is not in the house. She feels completely awake.  

She knows that fear-and distress-dreams can be triggered by 'feel back emotions' but, this is not a dream.  She is awake.  She is frightened and paralysed to the extend that she does not dare to breath and her heartbeat is racing. What is happening?

Finally last week, she came to read an article about sleep paralysis. 

It is said that sleep paralysis experiences are usually very terrifying but that blissful and harmless ones are also reported.

She needs to add that this good man, yes he was a good man, was 14 years her senior and had an alcohol problem which, when outbursts occurred, frightened her to the bones.

World Autism Awareness Day

As I read the 'Spiegel' and the 'Guardian' this morning I was reminded of 

                                                   

                                                                                             Nov.15, 1972

I don't know what Moselito knew way back then.  I had never heard of Autism....now we are both fine with it and life is beautiful. 





                               

Petrus and the weather

Is Petrus still in charge of the weather?

He was when I grew up.  Or, was he only responsible for rain? I can't remember.

I talked to him this morning but you don't want to hear what I said.

When Moselito and I returned from the movies last night the pine trees were green - this morning we woke up to sugar coated green.

Two days ago it was -20C, today -5C and still snowing.  

Winter tires and boots are starting to feel heavy but waking up still feels good.

Happy New Year

My wish to all of you dear friends is a great 2014 Year filled with love and health, with happiness and some madness and ....of course numerous challenges....which you will overcome, just enough for you to become stronger and stay fully alert.


PS: Lovely blue sky but.....minus 35. So very grateful to be sitting inside cosy and warm.

Rest in Peace Nelson Mandela

In June 1990, 4 months after his release from prison, a co-worker and I  wanted to witness Mr. Mandela's visit to Montreal.  He gave his speech on Champ-de-Mars near City Hall.
We left early for the one hour+ drive to town.  We absolutely needed to find parking near City Hall.  The lucky find was on a street along a steep grassy mound.  On top of this mound was the field behind City Hall on which they had build a podium for Mr. Mandela's appearance.   We, like hundreds of other people, climbed the mound as high as we could to be able to see Mr. Mandela as he spoke.  We could hear him but as much as we stretched our necks, we could not see him.  As we were standing there, happy to be that close but stretching to see, I felt a tap on my back.  As I turned, I faced a man.  I can't remember his face.  He was kind and strong and I got to sit on his shoulders. I was allowed to see what I could hear.  I was able to observe Mr. Mandela's conversation with us for a little while.
My notes indicate that he was saying something along the lines of the whites not being the enemy in the fight of apartheid and that we are all facing a common front against racial oppression.
                                           

Kazu came to visit

Kazuko has been working at Moselito's home away from home for 12 years now.  She is one of it's strong pillars.  Her parents still ask when she will be coming back to Japan. They don't know that she has no such intention. 

Whenever she comes to visit with me she arrives after closing the day at the Maison E. community which is 9 in the evening.  Most of the times it's a spontaneous surprise visit. She is used to find me pyjama-clad and each time she sends me an e-mail the next day thanking me for my hospitality and apologizing for having kept me up till 2 in the morning. This time she even went so far as to reserve March 2 for a visit. On that occasion we will open the TV - she wants to watch the Oscars. I love her dearly.

Here she is showing me how to take a video with my camera.

Unfortunately she was not around when I needed to be shown how to transfer the video into the blog.  It looks as if I managed. Hm, took me long enough!

They came, they played, they laughed, they argued and Oma is exhausted.

Yes, woof woof, this is the path that leads to the corral where Major is kept. 

He did not 'woof' us that the horse was in the barn.

Where are skateboard sharing rules to be found?
Sneak-a-Snack and Hungry Man were not happy with the ones I made up for them.  They prefer to wrestle over who gets to put his foot on what.

The fishing license was on hand but the boys had forgotten the rods at home.

                    





                    So, what's next?  Let's climb the pole!

           Let's remember this tree so that we can catch the bird on the way back down the mountain.

The boys are back to school.  Not to be seen again till Christmas.


  

Farmer's Market

was on my 'to do' list yesterday.  My first stop was to buy 2 heavy loaves of sesame seed coated spelt bread kneaded by strong hands at a biological co-op farm nearby.  The tall, clean looking farmer with kind words passing his beard-framed lips answered my "how many families run this co-op"  etc. questions with pleasure.  I don't know how our conversation reached the point where I said "I will if I remember".  That's when he started praising the effects of coconut oil.  It being very good for avoiding short memory lapses and even keeping Alzheimer's away.  As he asked "will you remember?" he slipped me this note

We both had a good laugh as I slipped it into the bag containing the breads.

Then, Mr. K. and I bumped into each other as we were looking at a display of mushrooms.
"Oh, the chef is checking out the mushrooms" I exclaimed. He does not know me but everybody knows him.  I remember him parading though the banquet room to a roaring applause of  us diners after a 7-course meal.                                                                    You know what I said to him? No? You'll never guess.   I cleared  my throat and said "when I left the house I told myself that if I meet a chef at the market I will ask him...and you know what, I forgot the question".  Mr. K. laughed and consoled me with "I am to be found here each Saturday".
We parted and a few tables away I stopped here

and remembered my question.  "Do you buy your garlic here at the market? Who has the best? I have a problem with garlic. I don't buy the one from Ch... but the other does not taste like garlic either.  Maybe I have a problem with my taste buds. What do you say?"
I looked for him everywhere, going back to where I came from but no Mr. K-chef was to be found.

Very disappointed I walked back to my car parked in the parking lot of a big surface food store.  I saw him from far and started waving my arms in the air as I was walking towards him.  I told him how I came to remember and put my question to him.  I think he is my age, retired now.  We 'Golden Agers'  are so nice to each other.  He thinks that all garlic sold at the market is good and suggested I never cut it into small pieces but always squeeze it open before adding it to any dish and added with a smile "if that does not work it could be your taste buds".  

The Boys

I have been kind of 'goofing off' lately doing easy on my brain things. 

When Noah, aka Sneak-a-Snack welcomed the arrival of little brother Hayden, aka Hungry Man, I went out and bought these two little journals.  The very first page asks "what is Noah/Hayden up to"  and the following pages give the answer. 
The question is always asked by me, Oma, and the answers can be from either the boys themselves or their parents or other family members or their friends.

I wish I had a drawing talent.  It would have been so easy to just draw a few lines to go with the text.  Something like a comic book but.....  

The way I planed it, I need to be around till age 90 to see their faces when these little journals are given them.  

Not sure I understand

This morning I read the heading of an article in the Guardian in reference to the British Medical Association declaring that force-feeding the  prisoners who are on hunger strike at Guatanamo  is a gross violation of medical ethics.

Why so?  Is it not done to prevent suicide?  If it is done for other reasons it is political and not medical or ?

What about medical ethics when terminally ill patients or elderly that do no longer want to live are kept alive by force-feeding through tubes and other means? 

Why are my thoughts wrapped around this article which I only read the heading of?  If I had read the article I might have found the answer to my questions and would not have had the opportunity to get this off my chest....... Mutti was 88 when she died in hospital.  For three days she had to share space with other patients and each time I sat with her she would whimper "please let me die".  When I returned on the forth day she was in a private room and no longer whimpering.  I was trying to feed her the pudding from the tray that had been brought to her when a doctor walked in and said " why are you feeding her when it only prolongs her agony".  I stopped feeding her and the trays stopped coming . Maybe the trays stopped coming first but I can't help but feeling as if I had stopped first.

Moselito

I picked him up on Friday afternoon to be with Ellena, as he says, for 10 nights.  His vacations with me are not only highlighted with X on his calendar but are also referred to  by the number of nights he sleeps over.

Today, Tuesday, he said  "10 nights sleep here".  As I answered "some nights have passed already", he replied  "Friday 10, Saturday 9, Sunday 8, Monday 7, Tuesday 6, today 6 more nights sleep here".

Amazing!  Enough to 'make' my day.

I am so grateful for such surprises and wonder as to how much more is in his brain that I/we are not aware of. 

Just saying and to explain

why I was invisible in recent days.

Wrestled with a 20pound bag of earth - the bag won - my back lost.

10 days of wrong body predictions promising a better tomorrow.  Pain killers now at work.
Date with a 'Chiro' on August 8th.

Please, not more than a HI in comments.