Gabi's Narnia

Long due excerpt through Lea

From pages 98-99 of C.S. Lewis's The Four Loves:

The Companionship was between people who were doing something together—hunting, studying, painting or what you will. The Friends will still be doing something together, but something more inward, less widely shared and less easily defined; still hunters, but of some immaterial quality; still collaborating, but in some work the world does not, or not yet, take account of; still travelling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side by side; their eyes look ahead.

...

When two people who thus discover that they are on the same secret road are of different sexes, the friendship which arises between them will very easily pass—may pass in the first half-hour—into erotic love. Indeed, unless they are physically repulsive to each other or unless one or both already loves elsewhere, it is almost certain to do so sooner or later. And conversely, erotic love may lead to Friendship between the lovers. But this, so far from obliterating the distinction between the two loves, puts it in a clearer light. If one who was first, in the deep and full sense, your Friend, is then gradually or suddenly revealed as also your lover you will certainly not want to share the beloved’s erotic love with any third. But you will have no jealousy at all about sharing the Friendship. Nothing so enriches an erotic love as the discovery that the Beloved can deeply, truly and spontaneously enter into Friendship with the Friends you already had: to feel that not only are we two united by erotic love but we three or four or five are all travellers on the same quest, have all a common vision.

…

Suppose you are fortunate enough to have “fallen in love with” and married your Friend. And now suppose it possible that you were offered the choice of two futures: “Eitheryou two will cease to be lovers but remain forever joint seekers of the same God, the same beauty, the same truth, or else, losing all that, you will retain as long as you live the raptures and ardours, all the wonder and the wild desire of Eros. Choose which you please.” Which should we choose? Which choice should we not regret after we had made it?

[Italics, quotes, and lack of commas are Lewis’s.]

Alright. This clearing up of files from the Mac's desktop came at a very unfortunate timing since we were sharing our deepest struggles on the phone somewhere between Dorottya Udvar and the Móricz Zsigmond Square earlier today. Do I have any other single, male friend that I am also attracted to? Of course I do, but we don't keep in touch.

Choose a family. Choose a friend.

A great HanuChristmas with wonderful people and the nerve ending hit by being needed, again. At least for the time being I can pretend that everything is alright and will have to face reality only tomorrow. I pray for healing.
Back to tonight: thank you for such great hosts and such great time. There is something inherently wrong in the system when you actually do not enjoy the micro-unit that is supposed to be your first and most natural place of belonging as much as you do the company of your close and not that close friends. Obviously society has changed a lot over centuries, still I find it appalling and frightening. At least now you can choose your mate, or you think you have an option to choose. Also, I acknowledge that this is a temper tantrum against something I find hard and tiresome, thus desirably avoidable. The good thing none of them knows this blog's address nor do they read in English. I am ashamed, it's supposed to be a service, a service of love. I choose. Just like King David I decided in my heart to praise Him.

Doggy Xmas

Dió, my stepdog, recently finished the first semester in a dog school where the teachers themselves have well-trained dogs. This is what they can do:

In case you wondered... I don't think Keszi is interested in decorating Christmas trees. She prefers rats.

Turn of events

Around the age of 17 I had to listen to Mom's scolding about going to bed so late and for not being able to wake up in time. I usually fiddled with papers and books and my thoughts until 1-2 AM while school obviously started at 8 in the morning.
Now, several years later the enormous twist happens meaning that it's the second day in a row when I wake Mom with a phone call at 9AM after having accomplished a chunk of work already. How funny!

PS: in case you wondered why is this recent immense load of posts... I checked on typepad that there aren't too many posts missing to actually reach the magic number of 1000 posted items and I'm trying to accomplish that until the end of 2008, hopefully not at the expense of the quality, if there is such a thing. Oh, Gabi, come on, don't your friends send you affirming emails concerning your blog?!?! Sorry. I shut up.

Keszi toothbrushing

Have you ever tried to brush a dog's teeth? No, well done. Stay that way. Monday morning the doctor said Keszi should receive such treatment once a week, with an overly soft brush and water. I was so happy to see her wagging the tail upon me entering the surgery room. You could hear the stones tumbling down into an abyss.
Today was the day and the stubborn little creature once again had to submit to the care she has been lacking for quite many years. It was pretty easy on the outside, but how do you get your dog open her mouth and wait patiently as you rub against the inner surface of the chewing toolkit?
(For some reason the bluetooth is not working, so you will miss her new golden coat that looks hilarious. We have a disco dog!)

Mom choice - my choice

This seems to be the time to post about past hurts. Another strange happening came to mind while we were sitting in the synagogue this morning with Zs'eszter, browsing through the weekly passage in an uncommon format of the bible with Hebrew, Hungarian and notes.

I must have been between age 10-14 when upon a visit to my grandparents in the countryside, close to Debrecen, we went to the flea market. We were always very poor, I mean financially, so I couldn't really have wishes. My parents taught me to weigh my desires and make decisions accordingly.

For some weird and unknown reason I felt a huge desire to acquire the Károli Bible on display, for 300 HUF (about €1.50, its present cost wouldn't be more than €5. There was also a very cute, tiny pair of shorts, for the same amount of money. Now, you should know that my Mom always had a concept of God, but was far from being religious and Dad used to be - and I guess still is - the most stubborn rationalist one could ever meet. Therefore the above urge felt pretty out of place, while its intensity made the whole experience branded into my memory. I can still recall the inner goings of my mind as I am weighing which item to choose and also the twinge in the heart knowing I made the bad decision.

Whenever I wore those cute shorts, I almost always thought of that bible and that my decision then concealed something from me which is a knowledge I should possess.
My Mom was the negotiator of the spending at the time, she didn't influence me, only highlighted that I had to take a stance.

For some very weird reason we mentioned this occurance the other day. I wouldn't even have thought she remembered. However, not only did she remember, but she expressed utmost sorrow over the ordeal and confessed she felt real sorry for not buying that bible for me, when it was obvious I badly wanted to have it.

Strange, isn't it? Both of us remembered so well. And now both of us listen/read the bible as convenient. And all that, during a Saturday morning in the synagogue. (Didn't you pay attention?!?! SATURDAY MORNING in the synagogue... and there aren't even available bachelors worthy of mention!!! haha!)

Dad support

The other night I walked through the dark Vérmező Park in front of my house and a serene sight awaited me. A slightly chubby man was hurriedly walking - almost at the verge of running - after his son, who was learning to ride the bike.
Although my pace wasn't overly slow walking the other direction and although the whole scene lasted for about 5 seconds or so it made a lasting impression on me and brought back sweet, bitter-sweet memories.

My Dad used to teach me loads of things. Mostly handicraft: fixing, creating, forming beautiful items of customary and unexpected materials. He also taught me how to fish, to be an adventurer and how to ride the bike. There was a rod attached to the back, close to the saddle and he would follow me to keep the balance. I suppose he didn't have to toil very hard and long, I must have learnt the technique rather quickly and ever since his daughter has been an ardent rider in and out of city.

My Dad meant a lot to me and it was very painful to face the reality of his weaknesses and personal failures as I was growing up. Being an only child and having him as "half-god" only worsened the natural parent-child and the obvious father-daughter separation. He didn't know I was seeing guys, didn't know I was seeing men and when he realised I am already grown up, I was light-years away. He didn't protect me anymore at that point and didn't fight for me. I left the parental house devastated and utterly disappointed in my dad.

When I learnt that the Creator of the Universe is not only God, but Abba, my Abba as well, the wounds started to heal. 7 or more years passed, and now I can confidently say my Dad is at the place in my life where he should be. He still helps me with handicraft ideas and materials, he still teaches me to be logical and use common sense in the most ordinary functions of life. He even cleans the rabbit-meat which task he knows I abhors. I love him and appreciate him.

That son and father in the park prompted these ideas that flashed through my grey matter in 2 seconds and then I was already moving on, rushing to some meeting or I can't remember what. BTW, here is an interesting method to teach your kids ride the bike:

Father's girl

As an only child, it wasn't the most girlish thing to have my Dad as a father. He is a Jack of all trades and that left its mark on me. Yes, Mom did lady-like knitting/sewing/embroidery, so I shouldn't disregard her influence either.
If it was about dolls, I was only interested in sewing clothes for the dolls. Instead of regular Barbie-time climbing trees, commanding my friends as the chief (Indian or what) and devising attack plans on enemy points were my childhood games mostly. In addition to these boyish stuff, both of my parents early on taught me to create valuable, useful items and also be willing to toil hard.
Thus when I recently asked dad's help in re-painting (and fixing up) the Silver Queen his response didn't come as a surprise: OK, but you'll have to scrape the old paint off and burr it with emery paper. Advice: buy a new bike instead. You'll be better off! But once I started, didn't give it up - in a few hours the alu-light transportation tool was not only in tiny parts, but ready to be sprayed silver on. To enjoy this fairly unique experience, I uploaded the pictures for you ;)
PS: Forgot to mention that the emery paper had to be wet, so in the windy-cloudy weather I was outside in dad's garden tucking in the bucket all the time and I felt very sorry for myself...

Adam's asleep

Just visited with Emő, a friend who mothers 3. It was great fun to have them all over on me, play, wrestle, laugh together. On the way back from their house a poem blurted out as a result of some recent conversations.

Adam's Asleep
I'd choose you, but you wouldn't me
Who would want me, I wouldn't keen
No greater pain than unreturned love?
Is there pickin' after all?
Pending fulfillment or mere obsession?
A heavy heart sighs as the local train waddles by THAT house.
Memories rush, toss and torture
Craving, screaming, fear of posture
Change? Real? Trembling inside
Wish a seal granted to whisper out loud.
Foxtrot, West-Coast Swing, a Waltzer maybe
The cobblestones withhold passion, indeed.
A dead signals, I'm here He says
No, LIVE for me that's the request
Hurt, wounded, sick and sour
On my plate as special, your tray in parlour?
Need the scent, flex of arm
Your's submission, questions and charm.
Melody gushes forth
Will it stay only mine or also be yours?
As water smoothens,  the wave dies
She is  seated, cast is her dice.

Jokin'

Mom (suffering from a nasty liver disease) has the best sense of humour. It is not only what she says, but the tone... oh, it's a killer. The other day I'm sitting in her kitchen, munching the delicious yummies she prepared for me. There is a terrible noise out on the street (in the resemblance of what an F1 viewer is exposed to). Abhorred I look at her and ask with a puzzled look:
-What's this noise?
-Oh, it's my potential donor.
She blurts out things like that as frequently as you and I breathe.