Category Archives: Fun

Getting high off social media (& tea)

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun, Life, Writing by

So I’m totally going to write a real post one of these days soon (considering Zsolt is about to graduate, that’s certainly something to write about), but just wanted to go on a little about how much FUN I’m having with RSS feeds.

Why I’ve always ignored that little ‘RSS’ icon posted across the land of blogs is a mystery. Really, the power of observation should have tipped me off that something good is happening (somewhat like linkedin, which I will, eventually, join . . . though with twitter, facebook, two (sometimes three) blogs, and google+,  another account to check feels slightly annoying. Maybe I’ll create it, then ignore it. . . . though I’ve heard linkedin has different connotations than facebook (family) or twitter (BC community) – it’s about professional engagement, or something.)

Anyhow : to do, look into linkedin.

But I diverge!

RSS feeds are an actual pleasure in the world of social media obligations. This is because it does a giant group hug presentation of all the blogs I’m reading. So each morning, I open my lovely reader, and before me is a list of every new post. No more having to remember each URL, no more subscribing to email notifications . . . everything is here, everything is easy.

I. Like. Easy.

Lately there’s so much talk about social media – and you know, I enjoy the conversation. Clearly (and saying this shows how ‘behind the times’ I currently am) social media is the next step in marketing and advertising, which has always held a fancy for me. Ever since that single Mass Communications class in university, first year, I’ve found the area fascinating. There’s so much PSYCHOLOGY behind communication, and now social media (live-feed communication) is on our phones, in our laptops, on the news . . . even in the freaking newspaper with ‘local tweets’ ‘celebrity tweets’ ‘prominent tweets’ etc (there should be a section called, ‘Catherine’s tweets’ – ha! I’d talk about which ice cream I’d sampled that day. Hazelnut topped with chocolate and cream.)

Gosh, if I had a single inclination to go back in time and re-do university (which I don’t) I’d totally study communications. It’s fascinating.

Anyhow, so here I am this morning with my cup of green tea, scanning the daily blogs. [Coincidently, bumyboobs can easily be added to such readers since it’s WordPress. Yes, I just plugged myself.] Maybe it’s the tea that’s got me so excited. The morning caffeine punch has just kicked in.

In any case, I’m off to do a little reading.

Zsolt as Piros and Vörös

Posted in Fun, Life, Love, Travel by

You may have noticed (or may not) the several-day gap between this and the last post. Well, honestly, the weather is warm and we’re by the lake, and it’s so lovely in the water . . . all my ‘things’ have been neglected (blogs, twitter, writing, narrative nippling).

My daily ritual of wake, eat, write, surf (the internet), workout, eat, surf/blog/tweet/get to business has been substituted with wake, eat, swim, eat, swim, eat, swim. And in between there’s an awful lot of laying on the grassy beach and playing UNO.

But today I’m popping by to say hello and teach you two interesting differences with the Hungarian concept of RED.

Hungarians have two words for red. Piros and Vörös. I’d like to use Zsolt, my handsome husband, to illustrate the difference.

On Saturday, a day that struck 35 degrees in the sun, Zsolt and I went for a swim in the water immediately after lunch. To be fair he was protesting this activity, saying “you shouldn’t swim for thirty minutes after eating.” and I was calling him a giant-baby, asserting that it “isn’t swimming when the water is only two feet deep.” Plus I was desperate to escape the suntrap porch of his Balaton cottage and get our asses to the water for a cool-down post goulash lunch.

Anyhow, we went into the water for a very ‘quick dip’ since it was midday, we had no sunscreen, and we’d just eaten. This was mission to cool down.

Except that it’s really fun in the water. And two minutes turned to five, which turned to ten, which turned to about 20 minutes in the water.

So while I was safe with my t-shirt (Zsolt’s giant nightshirt, actually, which I wore to protect the area of my body exposed to the earlier radiotherapy of February), he had just a little too much sun.

Saturday afternoon, post mid-day swim, Zsolt had a slight burn across his chest. This general colour of red is called piros. Piros can apply to apples, bicycles, swimming trunks, red vending machines, etc. It is your average red.

The next day was also hot. And so, again, we went for another – but this time, really seriously no joking – ‘quick dip’ in Balaton. Again I wore a t-shirt and Zsolt went bare skinned (by the by, all this time I’m there saying, “Babe, wear a t-shirt” but he’s like, “no way, not cool.” Which is true, I do look like a dork in this giant-sized white t-shirt, but at this point in my life I can hardly give a shit.)

Quick dip. With sunblock applied.

Half an hour later, we’re back on the beach to dry off. Zsolt looks down and asks if I think he looks more red. No, I tell him, you’re fine.

But did you know that sometimes skin burns slowly? Like, the extent of the damage isn’t immediately visible?

Anyhow – Vörös is Hungarian for a really rich, deep kind of red, and generally reserved for special entities. Blood is vörös. Wine is vörös. Zsolt is now vörös.

And today we’re sitting in the shade midday; he’s wearing the t-shirt, and every time I go to touch him (lovingly) on the shoulder, all I get in return is “Ow!” The man has turned into a human lobster. A vörös lobster.

So there’s a quick lesson in Hungarian language. Piros vs Vörös. And a good reason to wear your t-shirt in the water. Cuddling is cool, even if t-shirt’s aren’t, which makes looking like a dork worth the fashion faux-pas.

Living in a fruit salad

Posted in Food, Fun, Life, Travel by

“Catherine, it’s so delicious. Oh, it’s so sweet! Finom, ez finom!”

This is Anna the fruit pusher (aka Zsolt’s mother) trying to convince me to eat a piece of the orange coloured melon she’s just sliced. The table is covered with fruit – melon, apple, pear, peach . . . this morning there were raspberries, now finished off, and a few weeks earlier there were cherries too.

Hungary in the summer has a never ending parade of fruit. Organic, locally grown (aka the backyard), sweet, juicy, fruit.

 But I’m no fan of melons, with the exception of watermelons.

“Oh de jo,” she says, meaning ‘how good’ and looking earnestly at my face. You know, there’s something about her lovely blue eyes and absolutely eager expression that almost temps me to try the melon piece. But that would open flood gates. First comes one piece, then suddenly a slice, and then, of course, a whole half of the melon she’s trying to have finished.

“Lots of vitamins,” Zsolt reminds me. That’s the ultimate argument around here: lot’s of vitamins.

So I say to Zsolt, “how come your Dad isn’t eating fruit?” Laszlo is finishing off an ice cream (I also don’t want an ice cream; it’s too sweet for this hot weather. And I do not want a melon. Instead, as all this transpires, I’m slicing into peach after peach – recently picked from Zsolt’s grandmother’s peach tree in Pecs.)

“We’re all thinking of you,” replies Zsolt. “You’re the one who got sick.”

And it’s so freaking true too. For years I was saying his family eats too much bread, too much sugar – actually, I think too much anything is probably too much. And then I go and get the cancer. So there’s egg on my face. But nevertheless, I’m not eating an ice cream when fruit will do just as well; mind you, I’m also not eating that melon.

“Jo borat, finom.” I comment – nice peach, tasty. And the conversation is deflected into peaches. Ground has been held, no melon has passed my lips.

Next up in the fruit parade will Hungarian-grown watermelons. I’m looking forward to this stage of the summer, because unlike those other melons – watermelons are wonderful.

Now Anna has turned toward her husband, Laszlo, and is trying to sell him the melon. He’s not budging either, though his ice cream is nearly finished. I feel like he and I are allies in our dislike toward melons (just ignore that I tried to throw him under the wheels in an effort to deflect attention from myself – we’re allies now. It’s all okay.)

This is a fruit salad summer. Lots of vitamins. Lots of juice. Lots of natural sugar. I’m not sure if so much fruit is or isn’t cancer fighting (I’d say all those raspberries were probably quite helpful), but they are certainly delicious.

Anyhow, no melon for me, thanks very much. But I’ll certainly have another peach.