Laura's Blog

Civilisation

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Tue, 14 Jan 2014 19:43:00 +0000

'Civilisation' was a Christmas present for Mark, and, as with Downton Abbey, it is such a pleasant way to end our day! We enjoy it as a family treat, with Alina. It is a documentary series made by Sir Kenneth Clark and BBC in the year I was born, 1969, about the Western Civilisation after the fall of the Roman Empire. Its presenter, Sir Kenneth Clark, was a lord and first of all, a well known British art historian who also left us 'The Nude - A Study In Ideal Form', and other tomes on art.

"Civilisation" takes the viewer through beautiful vistas, islands, old European cities, churches, and museums and tells through picture, music and Sir Clark's enriching, often humorous language how the Greek and Roman culture found its way out of the Dark Ages, and how it evolved into the glorious Renaissance and beyond.

The age of this film does not deter but rather enhance its beauty and value. It is a superb evocation of the human spirit. Highly recommended!

Civilisation-Complete-Sir-Kenneth-Clark

Pepe Le Pew!

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 10 Jan 2014 19:58:00 +0000

My daughter's 7th birthday surprise and Valentines Day brought with them a lovely thing: Pepe Le Pew!

Who would have thought, but we all fell in love with the creature! He, apparently, a Looney Tunes character, is a French man always in love! He says 'I love you, darling, I kiss you' all the time to a poor cat that would rather escape his smelly embrace!

Wait! Is he a French man or an English man? We have a true Englishman in the house who also says 'I love you', "Darling' and 'I kiss you' all the time as well! We also have a skunk family under the deck, which occasionally lets us know they are still there... Phew!

Anyhow, we can't get enough of him:
Pepe Le Pew!

Sweet Honesty

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 08 Jan 2014 17:17:00 +0000

'I have been mostly good today..' says Alina after being lightly interrogated about her school day.
Given a range from 5 to 15, where 5 is not so good and 15 is excellent, she always has a number for herself somewhere in the middle. She closes her eyes as to ponder better on her goodness.. 'I spoke in class once, the teacher admonished me a little ..' and other naughtiness comes to light. When she tells us this, she puts on a serious face and looks at us to see if we forgave her for being a little naughty.

Today it's her birthday, she is 7. She got a silly and very sweet Pepe Le Pew Skunk who says 'I love you, I kiss you, I kiss you more" with a French accent. She promised to be her best today.

A pledge

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 08 Nov 2013 19:37:00 +0000

I have a husband who loves me and is the most caring, loyal and affectionate person I know. He is also terribly funny and makes me laugh with tears. He is knowledgeable and human. In his work, he deals with many children with various disabilities. The children love him and so do the teachers, he has a way with them that inspires trust. No wonder Alina is so at ease around Mark as well. She learns eagerly a lot from him. I love you my Mark.

I have a wonderful beautiful little girl who is talented, artistic, cheerful, fun and clever, but most of all she loves her mami. I love you my dear Alina, to bits.

I love my boys too, though they are now far away and the distance keeps growing. My boys, I hope you will be doing well with your chosen paths in life. Your mami loves you and is always here for you.

There are times in life when one must reevaluate and consider what is the best course. This is one of those times. In times like these, of hostility and pain, I must gather all my strength and love to give to my immediate loved ones. I am looking towards the future with hope and love, knowing it will be good. I must stay my course and do what I plan to do. I know I have love and support from my Mark in creating a better future. Together we are strong.

Tending to little chicken

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 06 Sep 2013 17:01:00 +0000

I did not know what to expect when the decision to get them was taken. The fluffy creatures that would turn into even more delightful characters arrived home! Others may call them 'smelly little buggers' but we giggled at how they stretched a leg, or how they slept cuddled together under the lamp.

By their second and third week, they doubled in size and we started noticing little feathers, more energy and character. Hermione, the Blue Andalusian, was obviously the less domesticated and far from cuddly. She also appeared to have seriously taken the role of head of the tribe. The Sicillian Buttercups (Rosetta and Francesca) have been showing off their curious nature every time I got close to their box.. they started using their wings to jump on top of the feeders to greet me! The Russian Orloffs began to show off their beauty - speckled white and brown feathers, and long necks. They are also quite tame, they were falling asleep in our hands since they were little. As for Dora and Hannah, they are big and sweet and will grow to an astounding size.

Fast forward a few more weeks. Our chicks are now little pullets. We still feed them chicken starter only. They eat a lot, take baths in the wood shavings, and they need changing frequently. Although they peck at each other occasionally out of boredom, they seem to like being together. They cuddle up in sleep in a big fluffy ball. We moved them outside in the coop a few days ago and they really enjoy their new found freedom. We are careful - perhaps too careful - about letting them out, as we were advised they cannot eat much else but the chicken starter until they are about 10 weeks old. If the mama chick were around, then she would lead them to a different diet, but as it is, they must be cared for and be healthy. They are pretty lucky chicks anyway. At the moment they have just enough feathers to be protected from the chilly nights here on the Coast. In just a few more weeks they will be able to eat a larger variety of grains , and we could let them out on the grass. I bet they don't know the good things to come.

Stay tuned for more details on their coop life.

Our chicks are 5 weeks old

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Thu, 05 Sep 2013 16:35:00 +0000

We just put the chicks in the coop yesterday evening. They are doubling in size weekly. They could no longer stand the box, nor could we stand the perfume.

Here is a report this morning: ".. just stepped outside and can hear very strange noises from coop. Think that Hermione is organizing an escape attempt. Pecking like mad .."

Our farmer..

Chicks!

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Mon, 19 Aug 2013 19:16:00 +0000

Upon our return from the green Wye Valley, Mark and I felt our home won't be complete without a little cackling and banter .. We want chicks!! When do we want them? We want them now!

On a Friday afternoon we cheerfully rushed to get our chicks from Feed and Fuel in Half Moon Bay. No less than 6 chicks in total came back with us. Alina was so happy to see them when she came from camp. And the day after, we got to pickup two more - so now we have 8. We got all kinds: Italian Mafia, Russian clique, even some British and American made it in our flock.

Now they delight us with their little voices (and their little mess.. more on that later, this must be a cheerful post). They had a cardboard box, then a bigger cardboard box, then a huge plastic box...

I keep dear memories of my childhood at my grandmother's house, in Viisoara, Romania (in Transylvania) and of her busy mornings in the chicken yard. I once raised a chick in my parents' apartment in Sibiu for a few weeks. As soon as it got big and messy, it was quickly removed and rushed to Buni (grandma), to my chagrin. Buni took good care of it and kept me informed how humanized the chick was! Apparently the chick I cuddled and sang to every evening was the sweetest of them all. I admit I didn't believe her at the time, but my grandma, she was the best soul on earth.

Living on the Pacific coast here in El Granada comes with many advantages. Despite being so close to glitzy San Francisco and geeky Silicon Valley, we are in a rural area, where the pioneers - most of them of Mexican and Portuguese descent - farmed the land. They still do - cultivated fields of artichokes, peas, Brussels sprouts and fall pumpkins fill the space between the ocean and the mountains. Many people here still keep small farm animals. Alina will be as happy as I was to grow up with the chicks and enjoy their multicolored eggs.

Here they are
- two Sicilian Buttercups (Sonya and Natasha) - everyone's favorites. These are the most energetic of them all, they want to take over.

- two Russian Orloff (Rosetta and Francesca): MY favorites/ They look sneaky don't they? They are actually quite cuddly.

- Buckeye (Hannah) (she is golden)

- Buff Orpington (Dora) (she is light beige and huge!): Alina's favorite.

- Blue Andalusian (Hermione) : Mark's favorite. She is one of those who went to the dark side. He also calls her Hamlet, since she often sleeps alone, and seems to be plotting very bad stuff.

- a Golden laced Wyandotte (Clarissa) (she is brown and sweet, she is my other favorite)

Alina and I holding the 3 days old chicks

We will watch them grow and post about them here, when time permits - they keep us so busy with feeding, cleaning, watching and cuddling.

The coop is getting built in the backyard, because these will be real hens with very real big and beautiful bodies and very active -- everything-- very soon!

Preparing for the green Wye Valley, with Wordsworth

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 26 Jun 2013 23:37:00 +0000

It was a very musty evening. In preparation for England and the green Wye valley, we walked under tall eucalyptus trees, surrounded on these hills close to the Pacific ocean by Jurassic like, huge, leafy plants, and a myriad of birds.

We listened to the ocean fog horn and read this sublime poem by William Wordsworth.

" LINESWRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR"

by William Wordsworth

Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a sweet inland murmur.*—Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
Which on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view	10
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Among the woods and copses lose themselves,
Nor, with their green and simple hue, disturb
The wild green landscape. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreathes of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees,
With some uncertain notice, as might seem,	20
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire
The hermit sits alone.
Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me,
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
And passing even into my purer mind	30
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
As may have had no trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life;
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight	40
Of all this unintelligible world
Is lighten'd:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.	50
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,
In darkness, and amid the many shapes
Of joyless day-light; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart,
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the wood
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguish'd though[t,]
With many recognitions dim and faint,	60
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was, when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,	70
Wherever nature led; more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by,)
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me	80
An appetite: a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour	90
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,	100
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear, both what they half-create,*
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,	110
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor, perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me, here, upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while	120
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,	130
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our chearful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee: and in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind	140
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance,
If I should be, where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence, wilt thou then forget	150
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came,
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake.

Weekend Walk On The Bluffs At Mavericks

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Thu, 20 Jun 2013 15:26:00 +0000

On Sunday, a day after our block party, Mark and I went for a walk on the beach at Mavericks, then walked up and followed the trail on the bluffs to the historic Moss Beach Distillery and back. It was a wonderful, sunny day. Dog walkers are plenty here. We petted an old and sweet Sheltie, played with a Border Collie, and enjoyed the walk above the ocean. Seals could be seen from above, warming up on rocks below. The only sounds were of waves crashing, birds chirping and our voices.

Near the Distillery the road is eroding and no longer functional. The houses are scattered dangerously close to the edge, just above the ocean, and they have serious foundation problems. People living here wake up every day to this view, so maybe it is worth the risk!!

"Happy hippie" abounds on the Coast

A homeowner we met told us how she is trying to prolong the life of her house by doing serious foundation work this year. She is trying to stabilize the ground underneath her house so the house doesn't slide or split. She hopes it lasts for another few years (!!). She was happily walking her Border Collie and told us how happy the dogs are here off the leash. The rangers are not yet to seriously enforce new regulations on dog walkers and their dogs. They have enjoyed this freedom for a long time on the bluffs and Coastside hills, and it is impossible to give it up now.

The trail is beautifully dotted with colorful carpets of bright plants and wildflowers.

We sipped a coffee by the fire and watched the sea at the beautiful Moss beach Distillery before walking back. We had nice company: a couple from Walnut Creek was here for the weekend, and we chatted with them about gold mining ghost towns at the feet of the Sierra Nevada - places we want to see soon.

On our way back we had flowers, dogs, stand up peddlers, a seal and kayaks.
It was a slow weekend day at the Pillar Point harbor.

Block Party in El Granada

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 19:37:00 +0000

We were invited to an impromptu block party on Saturday on the street next to ours. Having moved to El Granada just a few months back, we haven't had a chance to meet many neighbors. We have been planning a house warming party for a long time ourselves and didn't have a chance yet to hold it (though it's coming ...)

We met so many friendly people and their children. There were many children, of all ages, running about barefoot, spraying water, playing table tennis and climbing tree houses. Since El Granada is such a rustic place, they had no trouble finding ways to be happy.

As for the adults, we met people who traveled the world before establishing themselves here, then there were some who spent most of their life on the Coast, and remember when there were just a few houses spread sparingly on the hills above Hwy 1, with the ocean in plain view. There were teachers, a gardener, a house builder and retirees moving out to warmer places.

I found out about some great camps - surfing is second nature for children here, especially boys; wet suits hung to dry outside is a common sight.

Dave Alexander's open ocean surf camp is renowned
http://www.openoceansurfing.com/surf_camps.htm as well as the Half Moon Bay Junior Lifeguard program http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=27018

The loveliest thing of all - neighbors keep chicken which produce multi colored eggs. We promised to visit with Alina very soon, they live just around the corner.

I want to Dream. More.

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 18:09:00 +0000

Last night Daniel, my 11 year old son wanted to talk about dreams.

We fought with him trying to convince him to go to bed. He lied down on the kitchen floor, eyes closed, and said 'I can sleep here'. As we started to explain with adult importance why he cannot just lay there, the budding philosopher argued away for his new comfy bed, then said

'Besides, we are always awake, because we are always dreaming..'

So we started to talk about dreams, those fascinating childhood dreams we can all remember with vivid detail and are even proud of. Daniel eagerly told us about falling from cliffs, how actual noises he overhears get absorbed and show up in his dreams. He wanted to know about ours and we gladly lined up to tell.

But we dream less and less, apparently going from 75% dream state in childhood to somewhere under 10% as elders (data supplied by husband and not verified ..). Pondering on it - are we becoming so blase and know-it-all that we no longer absorb life the way we did when we were kids? Does this data imply that we live less to surprise our heart and brain with novelty and more to nurse our acquired knowledge and tastes?

How will it be if, once in a moon, we will shatter some little corner in our brain and wake it up? I am certain we will see life anew. And I, for one, will enjoy more of those deliciously terrifying dreams where either the air was made of honey, or my legs were mysteriously numbed and I couldn't run.

A strong desire is there..I want to Dream. More.

I do not crush the world's corolla of wonder

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 19:52:00 +0000

by Lucian Blaga

I do not crush the world's corolla of wonder
and I do not kill
with my mind the secrets I meet
in my way
in flowers, in eyes, on lips and graves.
Others' light
strangles the magic of the Impenetrable, hidden
in depths of darkness,
but I,
I with my glow enhance world's mystery -
exactly how the moon, with her white rays,
doesn't diminish, but with a tremor
intensifies night's magic,
I also enrich the gray horizon
with shivers of dear mystery,
and all that's poorly understood
changes in bigger mysteries
under my eyes.
Because, I love
flowers and eyes and lips and graves.

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii
de Lucian Blaga

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii
şi nu ucid
cu mintea tainele, ce le-ntâlnesc
în calea mea
în flori, în ochi, pe buze ori morminte.
Lumina altora
sugrumă vraja nepătrunsului ascuns
în adâncimi de întuneric,
dar eu,
eu cu lumina mea sporesc a lumii taină -
şi-ntocmai cum cu razele ei albe luna
nu micşorează, ci tremurătoare
măreşte şi mai tare taina nopţii,
aşa înbogăţesc şi eu întunecata zare
cu largi fiori de sfânt mister
şi tot ce-i neînţeles
se schimbă-n neînţelesuri şi mai mari
sub ochii mei-
căci eu iubesc
şi flori şi ochi şi buze şi morminte.

Young lioness, love

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 21:05:00 +0000

by Nichita Stanescu

Young lioness, love
Leaped in front of me.
It's ambushed me in a tense wait, for long.
Its white fangs sunk into my face,
It bit me, love, today.

And suddenly, around me, the nature
became a circle, rolling,
Wider, closer,
Water throttling.

And the eye sight sprung high up!
Rainbow doubled, cut in half,
And my hearing went to join her
Right up there, near skylarks.

I brought my hand
To eyebrow, temple, chin,
But hand no longer knows them.
It wanders in abandon, hovers
Above a shiny desert, where
A bronze lioness slinks
Her sly moves
Linger
Some more,
A bit more.

Leoaica tanara, iubirea,
de Nichita Stanescu

Leoaica tinara, iubirea
mi-ai sarit în fata.
Mă pindise-n incordare
mai demult.
Coltii albi mi i-a infipt în fata,
m-a muscat leoaica, azi, de fata.

Si deodata-n jurul meu, natura
se facu un cerc, de-a-dura,
când mai larg, când mai aproape,
ca o stringere de ape.
Si privirea-n sus tisni,
curcubeu taiat în doua,
si auzul o-ntilni
tocmai lângă ciorcarlii.

Mi-am dus mâna la sprinceana,
la timpla si la barbie,
dar mâna nu le mai stie.
Si aluneca-n nestire
pe-un desert în stralucire,
peste care trece-alene
o leoaica aramie
cu miscarile viclene,
inca-o vreme,
si-nca-o vreme...

Uncertainty

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 19:15:00 +0000

We live in a world where nothing is certain, though we do hope that the love which surrounds us today will last. Still, we hold dear flickers of beauty and truth, moments of love, tenderness and understanding.

In this world there are no promises or constancy. Its characters are fluid and trust that the unknown holds many more lovely moments.

The reverse side
by Stephen Dunn

It's why when we speak a truth
some of us instantly feel foolish
as if a deck inside us has been shuffled
and there it is--the opposite
of what we said.

And perhaps why as we fall in love
we're already falling out of it.

It's why the terrified and the simple
latch onto one story,
just one version of the great mystery.

Image & afterimage, oh even
the open-minded yearn for a fiction
to rein things in--
the snapshot, the lie of a frame

How do we not go crazy,
we who have found ourselves compelled
to live within the circle, the elipsis, the word
not yet written.

May gives itself with sweet abandon

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 15:20:00 +0000

by Lucian Blaga
translated by Cristina Hanganu-Bresch

We shall remember once, too late,
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated,
Your burning temple next to mine.

From hazel stamens, cinders fall
White as the poplars that they land on,
Beginnings want to be fecund,
May gives itself with sweet abandon.

The pollen falls on both of us,
Small mountains made of golden ashes
It forms around us, and it falls
On our shoulders and our lashes.

It falls into our mouths when speaking,
On eyes, when we are mute with wonder
And there’s regret, but we don’t know
Why it would tear us both asunder.

We shall remember once, too late,
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated
Your burning temple next to mine.

In dreams, through longings, we can see—
All latent in the dust of gold
These forests that perhaps could be—
But that will never, ever, grow.

RISIPEI SE DEDA FLORARUL
de Lucian Blaga
Ne-om aminti candva tarziu
De-aceasta intamplare simpla
De-aceasta banca unde stam
Tampla fierbinte langa tampla.

De pe stamine de alun,
Din plopii albi se cerne jarul.
Orice-nceput se vrea fecund,
Risipei se deda Florarul.

Polenul cade peste noi,
In preajma galbene troiene
Alcatuieste-n aur fin.
Pe umeri cade-ne si-n gene.

Ne cade-n gura cand vorbim
Si-n ochi, cand nu gasim cuvantul.
Si nu stim ce pareri de rau
Ne tulbura piezis avantul.

Ne-om aminti candva tarziu
De-aceasta intamplare simpla
De-aceasta banca unde stam
Tampla fierbinte langa tampla.

Visand, intrezarim prin doruri –
Latente-n pulberi aurii
Paduri ce ar putea sa fie
Si niciodata nu vor fi.
------------------------------------------
Lucian Blaga (Romanian pronunciation: [lut͡ʃiˈan ˈblaga]; May 9, 1895 – May 6, 1961) was a Romanian philosopher, poet, and playwright.

More about Lucian Blaga and this translation here

http://bit.ly/7J887R

Yosemite with Ovi

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 15:26:00 +0000

Ovidiu and I just returned from a memorable backpacking vacation in Yosemite. Five days we scrambled under the blistering sun of the High Sierra. I carried two reassuring bear canisters and so my feet suffered the consequences of a heavy backpack.

In Tuolumne Meadows

At the start of our hike

My son paced youthfully behind me, unaware of my inner drama. Naturally, a parent ought to show some calm, strength and courage in adverse conditions.

On his first adventure of this kind, Ovi had more calm, strength and courage than I could have imagined. Truth is, he hated the discomfort of sleeping in a tent, dozing on and off, being cold. He blew me away with a showcase of endurance, calm and seemingly endless energy. He loved the topo map and the junctions..See below.

From 10000 ft heights, we descended back to civilization on a Friday evening, when crowds usually arrive for the weekend. We could not find any accommodation in a 50 mile range. So, we filled ourselves with what we missed the most: peaches, oranges, strawberries and ice cream. Then, at twilight, we drove through Tioga Pass down on the east side.

A splendid American landscape opened up on the east side of the Sierras, Mono Lake and the Inyo National Forest. Country music was the only station available. Loved it. With a bit of luck, two hours later we ended up at a lodge in Mammoth Lakes and resorted to a satisfying McD dinner - what else at 11pm?

Hurting everywhere, exhausted, we took it easy the next day. It's quite hot in Mammoth at this time of year, so we rather killed time with mini golf, cinema. At night, we went for late dinner at a nearby restaurant. A lively jazzy/rappy band was playing.

OUR ITINERARY

Day 1 - Cathedral Lake Trailhead, camp at Sunrise
Day 2 - Over Clouds Rest, to Merced Lake, camp at Merced High Sierra Camp
Day 3 - Difficult ascent to Vogelsang, camp at Vogelsang High Sierra Camp
Day 4 - free day, Vogelsang Lake (10100 ft)
Day 5 - return to Tuolumne Meadows via Lyell Canyon

Many more pictures here: Ovi & B's Yosemite Trip

Cathedral Lakes

Beautiful meadows, wildflowers, and trees

With my dear, and helpful Ovidiu at Sunrise High Sierra Camp. The tent and water filtering were his jobs.

He seems happy here..

Long Meadow at Sunrise Camp, at sunrise ..

Leaving in the morning from Sunrise to Merced Lake, the long way, over Clouds Rest

To Merced Lake. Ovi loved the map.

On our way to Vogelsang High Sierra Camp.

Located at highest elevation of all High Sierra Camps in Yosemite, Vogelsang and the area surrounding it (including Vogelsang and Evelyn Lake) were most beautiful.

Vogelsang

After two relaxing days, we were on our way back home, through Yosemite, over Tioga Pass, again

More pictures here: Ovi & B's Yosemite Trip

Sufletul satului

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 17:20:00 +0000

Images of Romanian village landscape

The Soul of the village,
by Lucian Blaga

Girl, put your hands in my lap.
I think the eternity was born in the village.
Here, any thought is slower
And the heart pulses rarely
As if it doesn't beat in your chest
But deep in the ground somewhere.

Here the thirst for absolution
Is redeemed.
And if your feet are wounded
You sit on a mud ledge.

Look, it's twilight.
The soul of the village flutters among us,
Like the sweet fragrance of cut grass,
Like smoke flowing through straw eaves,
Like the play of kids on high crypts.

Sufletul satului,
de Lucian Blaga

Copilo, pune-ţi mânile pe genunchii mei.
Eu cred că veşnicia s-a născut la sat.
Aici orice gând e mai încet,
şi inima-ţi zvâcneşte mai rar,
ca şi cum nu ţi-ar bate în piept,
ci adânc în pământ undeva.
Aici se vindecă setea de mântuire
şi dacă ţi-ai sângerat picioarele
te aşezi pe un podmol de lut.

Uite, e seară.
Sufletul satului fâlfâie pe lângă noi,
ca un miros sfios de iarbă tăiată,
ca o cădere de fum din streşini de paie,
ca un joc de iezi pe morminte înalte.

I'll Knit and Kite

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 02:07:00 +0000

by Brindusa

I used to knit
Sophisticated sweaters, slowly, lovingly.
Rich threads and young thoughts
I weaved in them.

Now I learn to fly
A turquoise kite. Someone's yelling
' looking great!', and I crash in waves,
Fresh blood pumping through my veins.

The horizon seems uncertain.
I'll knit and kite for balance.
And everything in between
Should fall in place.

I'll run a fuzzy, violet and tangerine
angora thread through my fingers, on rainy days,
and spin a breezy cotton lace
on summer mornings.

I will dance my kite on the Bay,
When I want to fly
and I am feeling right.
I'll knit and kite.

Silicon Valley Oddities

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 16:04:00 +0000

With the eyes of a newcomer, here's a few things that caught my eye in the Bay Area. It's a culture leap from what I have been used to in Ontario.

- there are many fertility clinics and advertising for them
- there are many ads for Droid
- everything's organic
- everyone's talking about tech, ideas and money; no surprise, but so in your face, almost hilarious to experience
- there are many single men, many more smiles
- my son is suddenly interested in IQ tests
- we are tanned, sun burned at the beginning of summer
- there is a road biking and mountain biking cult; there are so many gorgeous roads and trails available
- kiteboarding is an accessible sport; women ride too, even in their 50s; guys like to show off their jumping tricks
- we spot very cool sports cars all the time, convertibles; many guys own more cars than needed, for pleasure and racing; Alina was taught to say when she sees one: "Look mom, a convertible! We don't need one, right? Who does? They're ugly, we don't like them at all, it's raining inside .." and we laugh.

- saw a guy riding a bike, one hand on handle, the other holding an open laptop on knee, fiddling with it
- at a playground, a dad was running rounds through (not around) while watching his little kid;
- Bay to Breakers, SFO Pride are colorful and fun events - similar to Toronto's culture, SFO is truly inclusive and liberal, not unlike the Canadian city we just left
-when looking closer, there is serious poverty and harsh life; in SFO homeless abound, as they are here in the Valley

You can draw many conclusions from just these few observations. Bay Area is Wicked - yes, we have seen the play too in SFO and at my son's school- geeky to the extreme, health paranoid in some circles, accepting, diverse, life could be chaotic, difficult to balance, it's hard to keep up with all the possibilities.

Violets (toporasi)

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 14:54:00 +0000

For a few cool and rainy days in March we went hiking with high school friends up in the mountains in Romania. Boys and girls with boots and rain jackets on, backpacks, we were all laughs and silliness... We traveled by train, hiked up for hours to a rustic cottage. The nature up there was so young and yet so profuse that time of year. Spring wildflowers were dotting the forest floor, trees were budding, brook water rushing, springing from the banks and out through meadows. Misty, long rains, and cool air were filling our lungs. We scrambled on the mountain, played in hay and on bunk beds, danced, fantasized romances, recited poetry in the forest, shared all our food, ate lard with onion, and simply adored our newly found freedom.

This is for you Gina, my dear friend.. I was in love with Magda's poetry (I knew quiet a few poems by heart) while having a crush on someone you would never guess. Do you remember how I recited it to you under fir trees? It felt so fitting with the moist nature and the spring in our hearts. I miss those times. We've changed, yet I know deep down something remained the same.

Joni Mitchell, a Canadian, wrote this
".. But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads,
they say I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day."

I still love the poem below and the violets, "toporasii", which enchanted us with their luxurious color and sweet fragrance. From a world away, I close my eyes, hush the poem and imbue my nostrils with their memory. As WabiSabiWhisper tweeted beautifully I am "savoring dusty memories of spectacular fireworks past".

The title of the poem below is about them, the delicate spring flowers -Viola Odorata - that blossom on the forest floor or in new grass in early spring. Gypsies used to sell them, together with lily-of-the-valley and snowdrops (ghiocei) in little bunches at street corners. On our way to school we'd buy a small one just fitting in the palm of our hand and take it home, their fragrance and beauty filling our hearts for a few cold days. They were the promise of the warmth and color that will invade soon. The girl in the poem enjoys them and leaves them in their natural setting, she goes back home empty handed and happier.

Below I tried to translate it in English. It sounds beautiful in Romanian though, if you'd like to listen to me recite it, here it is at this link

Toporasi, recited by me on YouTube

Toporasi

de Magda Isanos

-----------------------------------------------

Cu sacu-i plin de banalitati s-a prezentat
si anul asta zana primavara,
cu toate-acestea noi ne-am bucurat
de parca-ar fi venit intaia oara.

Contrazicându-ma cu mine insumi si-n sfarsit,
riscând sa-mi stric pantofii prin noroi,
m-am dus sa vad ce flori au rasarit
în parcul vast si gol de langa noi.

De mult
nu ma-ncercase asa dor
de viata si calcam nerabdatoare;
simteam cum se-nfioara sub picior
pamantul umed, fecundat de soare.

Copacii goi mi s-au parut incantatori -
Parca-as fi vrut sa-i strang în brate sa-i sarut
(trecusem pana-atunci de-atatea ori
pe langa ei si nici nu i-am vazut)

Iar ceru-albastru, vag, nedefinit
(ca rochiile care ies la spalat),
cu capul dat pe spate l-am privit
si l-am gasit de-a dreptul minunat.

Pe urma-am dat de toporasi langa-un stejar
erau asa de-albastri, delicati -
ca niste firmituri lasate-n dar
de primavara, printre pomi-ntunecati.

M-am aplecat cu inima batând,
dar când era sa-i rup, nici eu nu stiu
de ce si cum, dar mi-a venit în gând
ca pentru ei paharu-i un sicriu.

Si m-am întors spre casa mai agale,
c-o oboseala fericita-n pasi,
iar daca mainile-mi erau la fel de goale,
în schimb aveam în suflet toporasi.

Violets

by Magda Isanos

-------------------------------------------------------
With a bundle of simple things
The spring
presented herself , again.
Nevertheless,
We did rejoice as if it never had.

Fighting myself and in the end
Risking to thrash my shoes in mud,
I went to see which flowers bloomed
In the nearby vast and empty park .

It's been some time since I felt
This joy of life, I was impatient,
Under my foot I sensed the shiver
Of the moist, sun fecundated ground.

The naked trees - they were enchanting,
I wished I hugged them in my arms
And kiss them.
I've passed this way so many times
and never seen them.

The blue sky, vague, unclear
like dresses that wash out ,
I watched it with my head tilted back,
And found it wonderful.

Later, I saw some violets under an oak,
They were so blue and delicate,
As if some crumbs were left by spring
As present to the darkened woods.

I bent with my heart pounding,
And just before I picked them,
I had a thought -
For them the glass would be a coffin.

So I returned home slowly,
With tired, happy steps,
My hands still empty as before
But in my heart I had
The violets.

My daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 18:25:00 +0000

My little daughter, Alina, takes time to wake up in the morning. She asks me to slip in bed beside her and stay another few minutes with her. As I do, she puts her arm around me and falls asleep again. Bliss. I wish I can stop the time right here and now.

She says I love you all the time. My boys, they rarely said it when they were little. She likes flowers, dresses, vivid colors. And chocolate ice cream. She is tender, gentle, expressive, stubborn to get her way sometimes..That's how girls should be right?

Some say we are conditioning the kids in their gender roles. Entirely possible. I used to play catch with the boys, and run them in circles to tire them, push them to learn to pedal, to swing, ski, throw balls.

With her we read more, dance and swirl, play pretend, watch the trees and the flowers. She adores Dora. Her brothers protect her and they themselves soften by watching her girlish ways, sometimes in awe. No rough games with her, or not yet. Still, under the princess skin I want her to develop some toughness - by skiing, biking, hiking, roughing it. I want her to grow strong and kind, so she'll be able to love this world, follow her dreams and then give back to others. I have a responsibility to show her how.

La Belle Noiseuse by Jacques Rivette

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:35:00 +0000

I saw this movie first time almost 2 decades ago, at the Cinemateque in Cluj-Napoca and again recently. It is 4 hour long and it was then as it is now, time spent with pleasure. Although the film is unusually long and moving slowly, as many French movies do, it is very rewarding to watch till the end.
Emmanuelle Beart is so beautiful, the film feels like a celebration of her body, of the feminine form.

The role of Marianne fits her. The actress embodies the feminine mystery that Frenhofer, a coming of age artist, tries to grasp and render in eternity. Frenhofer has passed his most prolific and energetic years, but some work from the past remained unfinished. He is hesitating to continue it with Marianne, he is unsure he'll be able to find what he is looking for. He is pushing forward passionately a few strokes - and we can hear them clearly on the canvas, a very effective sound effect - then pulling back. While modeling, Marianne is slowly becoming more and more submissive to Frenhofer's bouts to find the position that exudes her inner self by twisting, pulling, contorting her arms, legs, torso in uncomfortable, almost impossible positions. The actress is so natural, she is absolutely wonderful. Her character, Marianne, bares her body and a bit of her soul in the film. The director Jacques Rivette plays with her in a sensual way without crossing borders into obscene. At a certain moment, the model becomes so engrossed in the artistic process that she herself is pushing Frenhofer for perfection.
In her life outside the studio, Marianne's relationship with her boyfriend becomes troubled, perhaps prompted by her modeling for Frenhofer. She struggles with desires for freedom and finding the perfect emotional and physical connection. She is a troublemaker (noiseuse en francais) - sensual, stubborn, independent, fragile.
We are invited to reflect on the mysterious relationship between form, passion and creation, and on how anchored art is in the artist's reality as much as in his subconscious sensibility.

If you decide to go for it, be prepared to give this film enough time. It is a little gem.

More on writing

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 09:26:00 +0000

I stumbled upon an academic research study that brings proof of how difficult it is for someone to write in a second language, especially for academic papers and such. It puts my experiences into academic terms, and it validates them. I admit I felt understood by reading it. Warning - it is a very long, and a likely boring article to most.

Academic writing in a foreign language

The author argues that there is a significant difference in learning effort and skill between someone that writes to tell facts from memory and another that rationalizes, reflects, comes to conclusions. Social and cultural factors are not less important in the writer's learning path. Interesting stuff.

" ... reasons for differences in writing ability between skilled and less-skilled writers. The basic difference is revealed in their two models of writing: the knowledge-telling model .. retrieving content from memory with regard to topical and genre cues, and the knowledge-transforming model, which involves more reflective problem-solving analysis and goal-setting. ... The knowledge-transforming or intentional writing model is different from knowledge telling in that it involves setting of goals that are to be achieved through the composing process, and the purposeful achievement of those goals. The composing process does not depend on memories and emotions and on external (teacher) assistance for its direction .. .. criticize formal schooling that encourages the more passive kind of cognition by "continually telling students what to do," rather than encouraging them "to follow their spontaneous interests and impulses . . . and assume responsibility for what becomes of their minds" (I liked this)

"Both social and cognitive factors affect language learning. ... learners with positive attitudes, motivation, and concrete goals will have these attitudes reinforced if they experience success. Likewise, learners' negative attitudes may be strengthened by lack of success or by failure (McGroarty, 1996)"

"There is a direct relationship between learner attitudes and learner motivation."

The writing challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 23:24:00 +0000

Ideas for blog posts spring from memories, life events and daily reflections. I realize how, when I have this new commitment to write I pay more attention to details, reflect more, and think how one conversation topic, a fleeting thought, a brief image or a sudden event could develop into a piece of writing. Then I go through a short period of skunk-work when I try to collect material in my head and decide whether a topic is worth to write about or not. I want my blog to be a reflection of me, so sometimes I find asking myself - is this me, how can I say it better? The thought lines sparkle like fireflies, some intensify, some fade. While writing, I often get new meanings and ideas that I use, others I just keep lurking in my mind for later. That lazy stash is interesting on its own, if I would/could use it I'd have another blog altogether. After all this I let go with the flow don't ponder too much about it.

It gives me pleasure to seek the fine words in English that render my thoughts and feelings alive. They seem richer and finer in print. It could be intimidating though. What if to native speakers they sound contorted, unnatural? In truth, I bask in the thought of sounding different and unusual, the same way I like the uniqueness of my name; it's part of who I am, so I plunge nonetheless. The challenge of writing well in English is daunting and definitely worthy. It gives me a sense of being in tune with myself, it's creative and fun.

In the path to writing in this foreign language there were sharp switchbacks and then a sweet and smooth ascent, like a mountain climb. I studied English in primary school, then dwindled with it in high school and read mostly technical text in university. We had no information highways back then, access to English books and magazines was for a privileged few .. . I would only really grasp the language at conversational level after a few years of total immersion in North American culture. I recall the first outings with coworkers in North Bay when I often felt completely blocked from uttering a single sentence. I had feelings of embarrassment in making grammatical errors, or not being able to find my words quickly enough. I was discovering all those incomprehensible idioms that I wished I learned faster, there was the fear of sounding stupid - yes, sure, some lack of confidence. The language barrier and cultural differences made things frustrating and funny at the same time.

The life lesson was - it took me some time to become comfortable with English to the point where I no longer cared how I sounded or how well I said something. There is no recollection of a particular moment, I just let go and enjoyed the new world I was in. When we are immersed in a new language and culture, our personality and charisma, our way of intermingling with others, what we read and do every day create a unique growth experience. I wish I did this again - by moving to USA things have not changed much, just a Zee not a Zed .. etc. Or maybe I am wrong, names of cities and streets around here are in Spanish.. The kids will learn it in school, it's similar to Romanian and would be great to learn, more food for the brain.

To you, native English speakers and other masters of the language: my written language may seem a bit convoluted, sprinkled here and there with funny and unusually constructed sentences and misplaced idioms - just bear with me. I hope everything else comes through nice and clean.

Driving tales

noreply@blogger.com (Laura) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 22:00:00 +0000

Image by suttonhoo via Flickr

On my second week of driving in California I got a ticket in Los Altos for speeding 8 miles over, which was a whopping $220. I was lucky, the officer was nice and forgave me for the other infraction, rolling through the stop on a right turn - the well known 'California stop' - that would have been very expensive.

A colleague of mine was caught on camera rolling through the stop on a right hand turn on a red light and received an incredible $500 ticket. Maybe California is a little unfair and greedy to treat this as not stopping at all.

The state is making money on it for sure, but it also fires back. Most tickets issued by cameras are due to the "California stop" and there are long lines at the courthouse. The lawmakers may change their mind on the current regulations and give drivers a break, according to this article .

I hope times in Cali will get better soon so I can be more comfortable making a right turn, so happy driving and be careful at those stops!

P.S Proof reading my last statement I smiled - taken out of context it doesn't seem to make any sense .. but it's true.