Late night, I went to Timi’s balcony to get the laundry. As I folded it, a Daewoo Cielo stopped in the parking lot for a few seconds, then took off in a hurry. A minute or so later, an old Dacia 1300 stopped not far from there, a guy came out while leaving his lights on, and went to the exact spot where the Cielo was. He was there for a quarter of an hour,doing something I couldn’t see, then he took off. Any ideas of what the heck did I witness?
This weekend, a dear friend invited us to a festival in his hometown, which happens to be my hometown too. Since I haven’t seen it in the last five years, I jumped of joy with an ocasional “Zippin’ up my boots! I’m going back to my roots! Yay!” the whole trip there.
First stop was my old appartment - see that satellite dish? That’s what allowed me to watch He-Man (and Skeletor) back in ‘88, at the end of the commie era. There was no cooler kid on that side of the street.
The walk around the town was a bit depressing - there are many blocks of flats left empty and destroyed by God knows who into uninhabitability.
We had to stop at a kitschy little shop, just to take a picture of the latest trends in doll clothing…
..and extreme signs of baby doll constipation .
After that, we went to the festival’s site, where young people dressed in the local folk costume were all over the place.
There was also an exposition of Cugir’s finest products (read: guns, ammo, more guns).
They also had a hunting trophy exhibition, which got me angry at whatever hunter’s wife thought that attaching lace to the skin of some dead wild animal would make it, you know, more cute.
There was also a dusty blowfish. No, I have no idea what it was doing there either.
Hungry from all the walking, we went for some balmos (read ball-mosh - polenta with fresh cheese, butter, yoghurt, cream - incredibly yummy)) prepared in front of us..
… and then enjoyed a good show, both on the scene…
and in front of it.
One year ago, on September 19th, I returned to work from my two year childraising vacation (payed by the state, to encourage natality growth). My previous cabinet was now occupied by Mia, and I - according to my boss - had a new place in an empty Neurology space, formerly used as their outpatient consulting room.
The next day, on the 20th, I found out that the chief of the psychiatry ward - my boss - “forgot” to ask the chief of the Neurology ward if we can use their place. Since there’s deep animosity between them, never manifested visibly but rather in small chicaneries, it’s only natural that it happened so. The reaction was typical for a mammoth hospital - the Neurology’s head nurse came to the Ambulatoriu and yelled at Dana A. for giving me access to the room, the key was taken and the door locked . My boss was content because she “taught the Neurology’s chief a lesson”. The Neurology’s chief was content because he “taught the Psychiatry’s chief a lesson”. The Neurology’s head nurse was content because she “taught Dana A. a lesson”. I was told to find myself a space and that the Psychiatry doesn’t have any spare rooms.
The three days that followed weren’t exactly the happiest of my life. I stayed at home because I didn’t had a place to go to, looked for potential new jobs and generally felt miserable. Then dad found out what happened and asked if I wanted to go back to the hospital. I thought about it for a few minutes and nodded yes. He then activated the friend network and the next day, I was back at the hospital, with poor Dana A’s room labeled as being mine and hordes of patients at my door. Dana was with me in the room for the next three months - where else could she go - smoking as a chimney, cursing the patients and giving them their files and numbers. The Neurology room remained empty.
My salvation was Mia’s lazyness. She never takes her Neurology patients when she’s asked to, even if her schedule is empty. Therefore, they wait for 1-2 more days in the hospital just to be tested psychologically, and if they are more than 5 minutes late, she cancels the appointment. I deal with mine as soon as possible, usually on the same day. The neurology ward started to send me patients that should have been Mia’s, and I didn’t say no. After a month or so however, I had a talk with Grati, one of the Neurology nurses. Grati is smart, sarcastic, posesses strong organisational capabilities and has free entrance to their ward’s chief. She’s also a good friend of mine.
I asked her to tell her boss that I’ll continue to see their patients but I really need a decent space instead of the hole in the wall I was crammed in at the moment. Nothing official, of course - the apparences had to be preserved, and the two wards were still very much at war. I also said that I understand the fact that whenever they need the room, I’ll relocate. She talked to him and he said OK - after all, he didn’t had anything against me. I moved back.
This week (and the next) they need the room to see their outpatients because the city clinic’s Neurologist is on holiday. Therefore, at the aniversary of the Ugly Days I’m back in Dana’s room. Only this time I’m smiling about it.
To the English speaker: I blog in English. Yes, my writing isn’t exactly at native speaker level , my choice of words might be less fortunate, my using of the tenses precarious, my spelling faulty. I’m aware of this and deal with it by improving. Deal with it too. After all, you’re not forced to come back, and yet, your letter showed you’ve read at least 90% of what I wrote.
To the Romanians: I blog in English. It’s not because I want to show off my knowledge of the lingua franca or because I find Romanian not good enough for my taste. And I’m not touching the “you’re half Hungarian, it figures”, not even with a ten meter pole. I choose not to write in Romanian because it’s safer. I work at a real hospital, I write about real people - patients, docs, other psychologists. Just think what would happen if people would find out about this blog (hint: Dooce). Thank God most of the people that went to school before ‘75 learned mainly French, Russian and German, or I would have to either resort to Hungarian or restrict my content to mommyblogging, sharing recipes and telling you about my newest family in Sims 2. Oh, and I’d post pictures of kittens. Lots of kittens. Gah.
One of the highlights of the autumn in any respectable Romanian house is the making of the Zacusca for winter. What is Zacusca, you ask? Basically, a paste containing eggplants, red peppers, onions, celery, tomatoes, carrots, sunflower oil and spices. (at least that’s my family’s recipe). We decided this year to make two kinds - one with this recipe, the other with beans instead of eggplants.
The process is labourious and tiring, since you usually make enough to feed a small army, but the result is worth it, since it can be used for anything from sandwiches to Zacusca Chicken.
Here’s the how-to:
Day1
Start on the first day by carefully controlling the beans for any vermin or sand, while the toddler in your lap coordonates the beans by size, colour and other more obscure criteria. Place the good beans in water and let them soak there until the next day:
Continue by making a big fire in the backyard, trying not to alert the firemen in the process:
Place the eggplants on the grill and roast them to oblivion (or until they are black and soft to the touch)
After you’re finished with the eggplants, do the same to the red peppers.
Peel the eggplants, let them drain until the next day on a wooden board , peel the red peppers. Receive gracefully your new “veggie inquisitor” title. Watch from a safe distance the chopping of the onions. Peel the celery and the carrots before collapsing from exhaustion.
Day2
Start by washing every jar that has a matching lid from the household. Go buy some more jars when you realise they will clearly not be enough. In the meantime, praise your mom for baking the beans , boiling the celery and the carrots and pureeing the tomatoes.
Grind the peppers, add them and the chopped onion to the celery/carrot/tomato/oil mix that’s been cooking on very low fire, stir ocasionally. Add salt, pepper, a few bay leaves. Then, after the oil appeared on the surface, put half of the mix over the beans and cook separately , stirring every 5 minutes, until ready (aka when the oil, now deep red, reappears on the surface)
Add the pureed eggplants to the half that remained in the original huuuuuuuge pot. Stir vigorously. Cook until the oil becomes visible.
Put in jars. Put the bean zacusca in jars. Put the lids on immediately. Place in a warm environement (for example between lots of pillows), let it cool slowly without being disturbed until the next day. Store in a cool, dark place. Eat in the following year.
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