31
July
2006
At the beginning of the summer we decided that we’ll either go to the rock festival in Tg. Mures or to the medieval one in Sighisoara. The rock festival lost, mainly because of my ear infection, since the one act we were interested in was on Friday, when I was in no shape to travel. We were no strangers to the second event, since we went there in 2002. That year wasn’t exactly the most glamorous for it though - lots of drunk / high people, plastic beer glasses scattered on the streets and kitschy merchandise everywhere. Fortunately, this year the situation looked a lot better. Lemme show you:
This is the western entrance to the citadel, and you can see me, Julia the apprentice (the girl in the black skirt) and our mutual friend Nora (sporting black trousers) in front of it, in probably the only vanity picture taken there. There was too much beauty to spoil it with some self-promotion, y’all.
The streets were narrow and the houses were placed in the most improbable angles possible. The colours of the houses covered the whole spectrum.
There was a clocktower:
A church in the middle of the citadel:
And one up the hill
to which you had to climb a huge amount of stairs
but it was worth it, because there was a preclassical concerto inside, and some gorgeous mural paintings and altars.
There was also the house in which Dracula’s dad (actually, the chieftain which inspired that particular vampire) lived for a while:
This allowed the merchants to put mr D. on everything, from mugs to T-shirts to paintings to diplomas certifying that you got to this place unbitten.
The rest of the pics, completed with explanations (yes, Raluca, you’ll find out what were those Indians doing there) - tomorrow .
Posted: on the road
31
July
2006
I finished to upload a huge amount of pics from the Medieval Festival that took place in Sighisoara this weekend. Until I get to write the post (or posts) about it, feel free to look at them (and comment) on Flickr. (they’re public, just search for shrinkmamma’s photostream). Oh, and they are put in inverse order - so if you want my comments to make sense, find the beginning and start from there.
See you tomorrow, Ada over and out
Posted: on the road
27
July
2006
*Oh, and not only there’s no baby, but Julia’s MIB had no chance to get to the hospital - the Forensic Comission is on vacation from this week until the end of August, so there weren’t any cases for examination. She came back today from camping in Sovata looking fresh and tanned and said she’s in no rush. I’ll keep you updated if there’ll be any news about them.
*Timi has a newfound love for seashells. Proof:
*Neil Gaiman has a blog. To say that I find it fascinating would be an understatement. The guy just kicked Stephen King’s ass from the pedestal in my brain reserved for The Most Interesting Writer. If you’ve read the Sandman series or American Gods, you know what I’m talking about.
Posted: Timi, hospital, stumbled upon
27
July
2006
Yes, you’ve read it right. A small rectangular piece of garlic protrudes out of my left ear canal, giving me a lovely scent of French Cuisine (or Romanian salami, if you insist). Why, you ask?
Duh, people, it’s a proven natural remedy. I have an ear infection which makes me climb the wall in pain each evening and the Nurofen pills didn’t do much to it so I had to take some alternative measures. It’s supposed to work because garlic is both antiinflamatory and disinfectant, and I’ve used it a few times before, with good results. So you smell funny while using it -just keep yourself away from the new hottie in your office and you’ll be fine. You’re not left with many choices when you don’t want to use antibiotics.
And just why won’t you use them, I hear you ask - well .. ahem.. I might or might not be pregnant. A quick test said no, but I’m sleepy each afternoon to the point where I simply go to sleep immediately when Robi comes home, happy that there’s somebody who can take care of Timi while I finally get my snoozes. This was the main simptom with Timi in the first months, too .
I’d like to have some certainity, though. If kid no.2 is not here, that’s fine, I can get the damn antibiotics and cure my throat and my $#^& ear. If he/she is here - hooray ! The ear pain would be for a good cause.
Posted: chestii
25
July
2006
New renter - and I chose the first to bid on my offer this time. I didn’t need to wait for others, since I found the Useless Men that write this blog too entertaining to be ignored. If you click on their link - you know, the image at the top of the sidebar, you’ll find out their opinion on:
-why there’s no woman on the American dollar bills
- the subtle meaning of Not Putting The Toilet Seat Down
- what can be done with a roommate that eats YOUR pizza
and, of course,
- itching crotches .
Posted: stumbled upon
25
July
2006
And she’s a true French girl allright - smart,slim, sexy, doesn’t eat much, surprises you with something pleasant just when you thought you had her figured out and purrs like a kitten when you start her the right way - Mesdames et messieurs, our Citroen C3:
Posted: chestii
24
July
2006
Around 10 AM a full-figured woman entered my office. I was in a good mood, thanks to my last two Hospitality Club guests - tall, funny german girls sporting a beautiful knowledge of Hungarian language - so I was all smiles and chitchat. Soon I managed to get the bud of a smile on her face, despite her diagnosis, which said “severe depression”. It’s not her case or her symptoms that make me write about her, though - it’s the story of how she got sick.
The lady was born in a poor family, the first of five brothers. Between a too severe father and an absent-minded mother, she had to grow up before she went to school. Between all that washing, baking, butt-wiping and smacking the foul-mouthed, she never got to highschool and married soon after she turned sixteen. The washing, baking and wiping didn’t change much, except for the fact that it was now done for less people. “I married more to get away from my parents’ home … it wasn’t such a smart move, in the end”.
The marriage was loveless and beatings started soon after the birth of their first child, the fact that her partner befriended the bottle didn’t help much either. She loved her kids though, so she coped with things and years went by until she passed 45. Then the husband had a car accident and she became a widow. The kids were now grown ups, they had jobs and married and moved away. For the first time in her life, she had nobody to take care of.
Two years after the death of her husband, she met another man. I wish I could show you how this down-to-earth looking, massive woman with a scarf on her head, dressed in deep shades of grey, talked about him. It was Juliet talking about Romeo, Beatrice shouting to the world the beauty of her Dante. It sounded a lot like I still talk about my miracle of a husband - the woman was transfigured with love.
She described a gentle, introverted man who never did her harm and was always looking for ways to make her feel cherished. They almost never argued, and he somehow always knew just what to tell her to cheer her up after a hard day. He was a divorcee with kids, the first marriage being just as miserable as hers. They wondered sometimes why the Almighty gave them that much bliss, so late in life. So passed 12 years.
The one day, she was phoned and told that her husband had a car accident, just like the first, but instead of dying he was sent with both legs broken to a clinic in Cluj. She found a neighbour to take her there and stayed near his bed for a few nights, sleeping on the chair because there were no beds available and agonizing between hope and despair until all the surgeries of her husband were finished. She befriended one of the doctors, who told her that things were looking just fine and in a few weeks they’ll be able to send him home with casts on his legs and a prescription for long restings and grandchildren hugs. They made the doc promise he’ll be visiting them when he’ll hike in the mountains where they lived. The weeks passed quickly and the day he was supposed to be discharged from the hospital arrived.
They spent the morning discussing how they’ll sell the cow and the horse, buy a small used car and he’ll show her the country, stopping to visit every monastery and tourist attraction they’ll see. She then started to pack his clothes when he out of nowhere cried out something unintelligible, convulsed his hands in the air a second and lost conscience.
She rushed to him, tried to wake him up by screaming his name and pouring water on him, then started rubbing his chest vigorously because he looked like he wasn’t breathing anymore. Meanwhile, a football player that occupied the next bed while waiting for his knee surgery jumped out of his bed and went out on the hall, screaming for the nurses. By the time they got in, the husband was awake and responsive, and asked the wife with a lot of anger why she was shouting at him like a lunatic.
“But you lost conscience”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it, woman”
The nurses then shouted at her for making a big deal out of nothing and wanted to get out. Before the last one exited though, he lost conscience again, bubbles appeared on his lips and in a few minutes, despite electroshocks and intensive resuscitation manoeuvres, he was dead.
The autopsy discovered he died because of a blood cloth, caused by the prolonged bedrest. The trombus stopped first in his heart, causing the loss of conscience she saved him from by heart massage. The second, and final stop, was in his lungs. She was depressive ever since .
I know this story sounds a lot like a Hallmark movie script, but she had he papers to prove it. And Hallmark-ish, my dear readers, might sound also what she said before leaving - but since it was truth and not fiction, I see no cornyness in it :
“I know I was luckier than most people for having what I had, even if it was so late in life and after so much suffering. And I feel him watching me from up there. But it’s still hard, because it’s such a long time until the distance between us will shorten.”
Posted: hospital
