Boy and tiger

Oh the Drama, the Drama!

OK, so because of what went down on a certain filter here, on my parenting LJ, my GJ and the PROUD boards, I deleted about 12 entries from here, removed and banned every member of the Drama squad from all my LJ flists, also removed every mutual friend with a certain someone (including her husband and sister--please don't take it personally, but both my main LJ and the boards were visited under your usernames with home IPs while you were definitely not at home). I will keep this LJ public for those of you who were removed and still want to keep up, but for now I am not adding you back. You are all welcome to my blog, and you are definitely welcome to the boards, but the boards are still subject of moderation, still private and I did remove Alexis from the mod list, and I am not giving anyone admin rights lest her sig should be changed back.

I really don't take it well when people try to ban me from the boards I host and pay for, thank you. She won't be banned, but she won't be able to change her settings till further notice.
Boy and tiger

Ketchup and other things making life colourful

First of all, LJ users, did you know about this site? It makes a map of your friends or interests based on... the other factor. Really nifty.

I also found a great crime blog. It is the blog of CrimeLibrary contributor Steve Huff, who is not only a true crime blogger, but a trained opera singer! Now how much more interesting one can get?

This winter has been rather interesting so far. With the rapidly changing weather and nice sunshine, I cans ay that depression hasn't had as much chance to permanently set in as last year. It is bright and sunny now, and my children are playing outside as my sweetheart is parking the car. Little yellow, green and red pixies chasing the cats and picking twigs. My sons. Matthew is turning towards his brother, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. The Sun tries extrahard in the winter to win its kingdom back, and while it doesn't bring much warmth, it produces bright sunlight, putting the brightest summer days to shame. I can see Matthew laughing at something his brother must have told him.

It is a happy winter day.
All the wonder

This journal needs an update really bad. So a happy crosspost from my other LJ

Yesterday was the quarterly crafts day at Church. It was amazing, with wonderful turn out with over 400 people showing up. Some people were just random locals, who heard about the crafts and came. We had a nice, big crowd and lots of food. Amazing amount of Christmas decorations were made, lots of food was had, and lots of rehearsals and costume fitting were done.
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Anne=Jesus? Don't think so!

Anne Rice's book, in which she thinks she is Jesus and writes a first person narrative about the 7-year-old Christ, is now available. Amazon has a special offer if you buy it together with the Vampire Encyclopedia. Oh the irony!

I really think that Anne Rice's book is just as sacrilegious as Jesus Christ Superstar (though I enjoy the latter very much). However, I have no problem whatsoever with Andrew Lloyd Webber, because he has never intended his musical to be a faith promoting experience. It is awesome musical theatre, though. My problem with Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt is that it is the product of Anne Rice's return to Catholicism and abandoning her earlier sinful ways and writing propaganda for Christ. Actually, that would be okay. My problem is that she thinks she knows what Jesus thought and felt and assumes the authority to write in his name. That is a big no-no. If Christ was who he claimed to be than no human can have the slightest idea of what he ever thought and felt like. Not even at age 7. And furthermore, no human can have the authority to give words into God's mouth. Not even Anne Rice.

I shouldn't be surprised that she did it, though. The Christian Churches have been doing that for two millennia. Catholic tradition was putting words in God's mouth that he never said. Most of the reformation did the same: they took out words they didn't like and twisted others. And now people who have an influence over the masses do the same. And here I'd like to make a comment about Mel Gibson's violent epic, The Passion of Christ. He left out the single most important event that made Jesus, son of Joseph different from the other Messiahs roaming first century Judea. The fact that he rose on the third day. There had been other slain prophets and self proclaimed messiahs, who even performed miracles. The only difference was that Jesus overcame death. Without that "insignificant" event his death would have been just another blasphemous criminal's execution. It wouldn't have really mattered.
Boy and tiger

The Avon Lady

The Avon Lady comes every other week or so. She usually comes on a Thursday or a Saturday, sometime after dinner. She brings a big green Avon bag stuffed with catalogues and free samples. She comes wearing bright colours and a big smile. She puts her bags down in the common area, goes around, knocks on doors, lets people know she is here. She engages in chit chat with everyone, shows the new catalogue to the ladies and shares make-up tips with them. She does everything like all the Avon Ladies in the world.

She is just a little bit different. The Avon Lady is in her twenties. She is a secondary school teacher. She has bright red hair and freckles and perfect
white teeth. She also has a reconstructed right breast. The Avon Lady is a breast cancer survivour.

She comes every other week to let the other survivours know that they, too can be beautiful, that they, too, can feel normal. She comes
and does make up, foot treatments, nails and everything else that anyone on the floor needs. And when the time to leave comes, she leaves the free samples
behind. One lady gets a little lipstick, another becomes the proud tester of some face creme. A little bottle of nail polish here, a perfume sample there. Small treasures for those on the floor. Men and women, who want to feel beautiful. Men and women, who yearn for being normal. Men and women, who need
small miracles to keep going. Men and women, who otherwise lack the means to get the things the Avon Lady sells.

The Avon Lady never makes profit on the floor. With an order here and there she just breaks even. Some months she spends a small fortune on the samples, but she still comes and indulges the patients. She pampers them, spoils them, makes them feel human.

The Avon Lady comes and she creates a spot of spring in the autumn.

Boy and tiger


Autumn is undoubtly and unchangably here. The last budding roses are battling the morning fog. Against the grey sky the flower colours come alive. They are so sharp, so well-defined and so clear--something that can never happen in the dazzling summer. They are almost unbelievable.

"I could give the RGB codes for them," the web designer in 8L says. I don't doubt him. He probably could.

We are both outside on the 3rd floor deck, looking at the flowers planted in the brown balcony pots. Above our heads dark clouds sail by slowly. It was raining earlier and the scent of rain is mixed with the smell of the city.

He lights a cigarette. I shake my head--the head nurse will chew him out if she sees him, and no doubt she will as the nurses' resting spot is right behind us. They can clearly see him on the deck.

Glistening raindrops rest on the leaves and the handle bar. The timid sunshine slips on the wet surface as I look for my reflection in the water. My face is strangly distorted, my nose and right eye seem huge, the rest of my face is miniscule in the raindrop.

Such simple things can amuse me.

I am starting to get cold, prompting me to go inside. I stop by the heater under the window, taking another look at the autumn sky, resting my hand on the pipe leading to the radiátor. My fingers involuntrarily curve over the warm iron--I can sense the heat with the bottom of my palm.

In the distance a solitary oak tree waves at me. Its friendly, calming green is but a passing memory, it is now replaced by proud and loud colours. The pride of a dying season. An orgy of colours unfolds as the cool breeze sweeps through the branches. The vanity of nature is in the autumn leaves: the brightest colours and the smell of dry leaves on the ground.

Small birds take flight from the branches of the old oak. They come into the city for the winter, taking refuge from the surrounding woods. Their bright blue blacks and yellow vests are a welcome sight in many households. Soon, birdfeeders will pop up all over the city. Students watch the feathered visitors with eager eyes, taking notes so they can share their observations with teachers and classmates at next week's Nature Studies class. In a few weeks I will be making a birdfeeder from an empty bottle.

Another autumn-scented impulse: the distinct smell of roasted apples, evoking an old memory of a fireplace in the sitting room of a small Victorian house in Ireland. I was lying on my stomach on a rug in front of the fire, munching on freshly roasted apples while reading Voltaire's Candide. My brother, sitting in the old brown leather armchair, wearing a silk robe, and playing with his pipe, was absorbed in a text from University, Jung or Freud, or possibly Piaget. My cat purred on my back, keeping me warm and happy as Candide's advetures unfolded.

A rattling sound brings me back to the present. The coffee cart is passing by. The lingering aroma makes me sniff the air.

The aid stops to ask me if I want a cup. I say no and start to wonder -- I ask her -- when Halloween became a part of the Hungarian culture as she gestures towards the new little Halloween cups. She shakes her head; she doesn't know either. It just happened. Undoubtedly, autumn is here. In a few weeks the Christmas preparations will begin. Children will begin to learn the St. Nicholas Day rhymes and songs, school decorations will change and the children of Jehovah's Witnesses will miss a day of school for the October 23 celebrations.

The countdown to spring begins.
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Boy and tiger

On being Hungarian

"Mit jelent magyarnak lenni?" kérdeztem sokszor azokat a barátaimat, akik mindig is azok voltak. Vállat vontak, és azt mondták: "Döntsd el magadnak!"

Volt egy év, amikor kétszer szavaztam az EU bővítésről: egyszer mint az Ír Köztársaság állampolgára, egyszer mint a Magyar Köztársaságé. Szóval veégül is beszavaztam magam az EU-ba két irányból is. Furcsa volt, mert megint elgondolkoztam azon, hogy vajon én elég magyar vagyok-e ahhoz, hogy meghatódhassak, amikor Oláh Ibolya énekli a Magyarország dalt--vagy a Hazámat.

Írországban születtem, az első szavam írül volt. Két évesen tanultam meg angolul, de mindig büszke voltam arra, hogy ír vagyok. Először 11 éves koromban kerültem Magyarországra. Akkor tanultam meg magyarul és akkor hallottam először a vér szerinti családomról. Mert engem örökbefogadtak. Az anyukám a mamám testvére volt. Az édesapámat Szentmihályi Lukácsnak hívták születésekor. Ma nem úgy hívják, de az ő édesapja sem volt Szentmihályi.

Szóval, végül is félig magyar vagyok. Vagy... nem is tudom. Talán mindenki tudja, hogy ki volt az a Szerb Antal. Az ő magyar irodalomtörténete még mindig tán a legtöbbet forgatott és legtöbbet idézett mű. De Szerb Antal nem volt elég magyar ahhoz, hogy túlélje a második nagy háborúját a huszadik századnak. A nagypapám Szerb Antal tanítványa volt: magyar-történelem szakos tanár volt, aki sosem taníthatott. Auschwitz és Bergen Belsen után ő úgy döntött, hogy neki sem kell egy ország, akinek ő nem volt elég magyar, és elment Palesztinába. De oda túl magyar volt, és 1950-ben hazajött. 1954-ben már megint nem volt elég magyar, és akkor volt megint Szegeden, csak most nem az egyetemen, hanem a Csillagban. 1956-ban újra elment, ezúttal Amerikába. Az én apám akkor 9 éves volt. Ő már Kaliforniában nőtt föl, onnan járta a világot, zenészként, és került Írországba többször is.

Nagyapám, aki elég makacs egy ember, 1986-ban újra hazatelepült Magyarországra. 1987-ben kiutasították. Most, 2005-ben, 90 évesen harmadszor is hazajött. Most már szeretné, ha hagynák is. Mert ő még mindig magyar, és ha ő nem is kellett ennek az országnak, neki az mindig kellett.

Az apám... ő nem volt magyar cserkész és nem járt nagyon magyar közösségekbe, csak talán az egyetemi professzorok közé. Csak hat évet élt Magyarországon, de teljesen akcentus nélkül beszéli a pesti magyart. Most már nem a Szentmihályi nevet használja, hanem a Cohent--vissza a gyökerekhez.

Én éltem itt kiskamaszként, én élek itt fiatal felnőttként. Én választottam. Itt nevelem a gyermekeimet, itt tanulok, itt élem a mindennapokat. Ismerem a dalokat, a meséket, a mondákat. Olvasom László Gyulát, a hivatalos őstörténetet, de még a Kaldesh Asszony elméleteket is. Érzem, mit értett Ady, amikor írta, "Föl-föl dobott kő, földedre hullva, kicsi országom, újra meg újra hazajön a fiad..." Azt is érzem, hogy "Ki gépen száll fölébe, annak térkép e táj, / s nem tudja, hol lakott itt Vörösmarty Mihály". Tudom, milyen ízű a Túrü Rudi, a téliszalámi, az igazi szegedi paprika és a makói hagyma. Érzem a csányi dinnye és a szabolcsi jonatán ízét a számban. Tudom, hogy ki volt Szent István, IV. Béla és Hunyadi János. Számoltam már álványzatot a Parlamenten és álltam sorba a Műjégnél. Rettenetesen örültem amikor a pólósok megnyerték az Olimpiát, és még Armstrongnál is jobban drukkoltam Bodroginak. De elég magyar vagyok én?

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Crossposted to morzsa, poeticceadsearc, magyar (with slight modifications)
Not Quite Human


I haven't had proper PT schedules since the last few rounds of treatment. With the surgery on my neck a few months ago and the lack of regular work out I feel like I am not gaining some of the re-lost skills back fast enough. Like with the hand. I lost a lot of strength and dexterity again and typing is once again back to the pick and squeeeeeee part. Which is highly annoying when I think back of what I had managed to learn before my spine was played with again. GRRR.

The last four days, however, were awesome. With the pool at the hospital and Kevin's TLC I feel like some of my strength and motivation are returning. I might convince myself again to try transfering or catheterising myself again, but it could take a while. Especially with the latter.

I am looking at buying some clothes soon.
Boy and tiger

Another Week's Over

The other day I was talking to gulfcoast1 and she mentioned that she likes Happy Xmas (War Is Over) by John Lennon. So do I.

Evenings are now cool, on the border of cold, so Kevin starts a fire in the fireplace before bedtime. No matter how nasty my cold makes me feel, I always end up snuggling with Kevin in front of the fireplace. And it helps me feel better! At least last night it worked.

I am unusually excited about this year's Christmas celebrations! Actually I am excited about the whole Advent plan I have to keep the holidays focused. I am not planning on doing much gift giving and probably woN't do the card thing either--my funds are lacking very much--and I don't expect gifts either. At least it won't bite when the no gifts thing happens. You see I'm rather selfish and absolutely greedy, so I was kinda hating when people just ignored me at Christmas time. Oh well.

This coming Christmas will be great. I know that.
All the wonder

Another weekend almost over

This past weekend has been full of rain and calmness and gray skies and no internet yesterday. It was the most annoying thing as I couldn't check e-mail or the TV schedule or the news. At least I didn't miss downloading SG: Atlantis as they had two eps of SG:1. So that is all good.

Yesterday was long and I really didn't feel too well. Still not feeling 100%, but am a lot better. I think I am bouncing back now, which is a good thing. I am still craving my bed most of the time, but then again... that is rather normal with the chemo fatigue.

The last few days I had to realise the the campaign has already started. Parlimentray elections are not till May, but both of the major parties are already heavily into the campaing and I have to decide whether i wasnt to go and vote in the Hungarian elections at all. And if I do... I have to make up my mind about who to vote for.

One would think that since I am a bleeding heart liberal I will vote for the Liberal Democrats. Wrong. I most likely won't as they are becoming less and less classic liberals and more like... shit stirrers. So I am leaning towards voting for the Hungarian Socialist Party, who are governing at the moment.

To keep myself entertained I am watching Stargate Atlantis songvids. Two great sites I can recommend are Fantastic Visions and Make sure you check them out.