Category Archives: Love

Even lovers need a holiday

Posted in Canada, Life, Love, Travel by

Sitting here on the red chaise in my parents room with the front windows cracked open. Outside there’s are two crows calling (squawking) to one another. One of them is picking around on the front yard where we had throw some seeds over the winter, but it can’t see me staring at it from inside. This morning I woke up, exercised on the elliptical, read the news, made a cup of tea, and now I am here writing this out.

Last night we took Zsolt to the airport and he flew off to Hungary. Actually, he’s still in the process of flying to Hungary and I can only imagine his state of exhaustion. By the time he makes it to his sister’s home in Erd, he’ll have been travelling for about 24 hours on very little sleep.

This morning I woke up, exercised, made a cup of tea . . . had some yogurt, fixed the bed, read the news . . . and now I’m here writing.

Make a plan: so this is my plan. Morning will be for writing, as it should always be but often is not, and this afternoon I’ll be reading up on NLP in order to better write around the topic of coaching, mentoring and leadership. This evening I’ll gorge myself on reality television and maybe help my dad with making dinner.

Zsolt and I often separate for long periods of time. He’s from Hungary, I’m from Canada . . . so when the holidays roll around, (and considering we currently have no children) one of us generally takes off to visit family for three to four weeks at a time. And when I say, ‘one of us’ that really means I take off to visit family, and leave Zsolt alone to fend for himself.

So I cannot hold a grudge against his going away for so long this time. Particularly since he’ll be attending his grandmother’s funeral and, I imagine, helping sort out things that need sorting.

But I guess it’s been a while since we split like this . . . about 14 months since our last separation (Christmas to Canada, which lasted for five weeks.)

Zsolt is a man full of wise words. This is largely because as a child he had a book of proverbs, and tried to memorize as many as possible. And while they don’t always make sense after he translated the Hungarian version to English, this particularl expression (something, I think, that came from a movie) works well. He says to me, “Even lovers need a holiday.”

And so he is right.

This month will be focused on my world, and my projects, and my wonderful work. It’s nice to have this time, even if being away from Zsolt does feel rather bizarre.

Even lovers need a holiday. It’s okay to be away from one another, and turn the focus onto yourself. And I like that that’s okay.

But geez, I do miss him. After being together so long, I think I may have forgotten how to be alone. However, I reckon it starts with routine.

This morning I woke up, fixed the bed, made tea, had some yogurt, checked my emails, read the news, and now I’m here writing . . . and it’s going to be a lovely day.

For Zsolt’s Grandmother

Posted in Life, Love by

Zsolt will be flying home to Hungary early next week for the funeral of his Grandmother, Gyöngyi Angyal, meaning something like Pearl Angel, a.k.a. Gyöngyi Néni (Old Lady Pearl), who passed away yesterday evening. I’m telling you this because she was an opinionated, cheeky and hugely emotional woman who deserves at least one small story written about her. Really, I think she and her daughter (Zsolt’s aunt) combined could fill an entire novel with their antics (goodness knows I’ve been tempted), but I guess for this moment a blog post will have to do.

When he was a little boy, Gyöngyi babysat Zsolt and his sister. Looking back on this, as he and I lay in bed yesterday – twenty some years later – with our late-night wonderings, Zsolt remembers three things in particular about his grandmother. First, were the doughnuts; she’d bake puffed-up, golden doughnuts with jam-filled centres. Apparently they were like heaven on earth. Second was the dinner table; no one was allowed to leave until they’d finished their meal, as served by Gyöngyi. But as soon as his grandmother turned her back,  the pot suddenly became a little more full with discarded soup or cabbage, or whatever they were eating that day and didn’t want to finish. (Presto! An empty plate.)  Thirdly, probably shortly after the ‘magical empty plate’ trick, he remembers being chased with a wooden spoon – though she was never able to catch him. As they ran around the furniture and tables (something Zsolt still does), Gyöngyi would wave her spoon and say, “No, megállj csak!” meaning, “Wait till I get you!”

The first time I went to Hungary, after Zsolt and I had know one another for about two months, I met his grandmother (and his aunt, a whole other story, but one that always goes alongside Zsolt’s grandmother – they were a mother/daughter power team). From the first meeting onward, she’d ask when we were getting married. Then, later, she’d cry because her grandson was going away (to England) . . . and made me promise to take care of him. And as Zsolt graduated from university with a doctorate degree, there was even more crying – but this time with tears of happiness.  “A doctor in our family!” she kept declaring. Tears upon tears upon tears. “A doctor!”

She was a woman who didn’t just give one kiss on the cheek. She’d get you in close and kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss you on the cheek, because she loved you, and she wanted you to be happy, and because she couldn’t stand the idea of saying goodbye.

She messed up her hair when her daughter tried to fix it. She’d burp at the table. She’d speak her mind. She’d give generously to her family. She was a property manager of various apartments (her tenants called her granny – and they were of the rougher crowd, yet somehow she charmed them all). She tended her garden meticulously. She made delicious wine with the grapes from her yard. And she loved her family, very, very much.

Ever since meeting the Sámsons, they’ve taken me in and held no grudge or prejudice toward me as an outsider (i.e. someone who couldn’t even speak their language!). In a country where people are weary of strangers, I was instantly considered family, and Zsolt’s grandmother was in every way a part of that acceptance.

I guess the very best thing I can say about Gyöngyi, is that she was funny. Really, really funny. To her, there were no formalities, only pure emotion – nothing ever hidden. There would be tears, but alongside that there would be laughter. Lots of laughter, and even at the age of eighty-nine years old, she could giggle with the best of them. I hope she’s laughing now, free from the pains of old age, and looking down like an angel from heaven. That would be a fitting end (or beginning) for Zsolt’s grandmother, Pearl Angel Sámson, who loved and laughed with all her heart.

A golden kind of silence

Posted in Fun, Life, Love by

Okay, so I wouldn’t go quite so far to say Zsolt and I are cheap people. We’re simply thrifty. Go to a restaurant and skip dessert; split on the lunch buffet instead of an evening meal;. enter a mall with clear goals and no additional purchases (almost, I mean . . . if it really looks cute, I might bend.); never order alcohol; check the charity shops before the outlet stores . . .

And this morning, in honour of upcoming Valentine’s Day, we “went to a movie before noon, so we can get half off the tickets.”

Sounds like fun, eh? 🙂 It was.

This morning, close to noon, we attended a showing of The Artist at our local AMC theatre. This is a show that features a charming male lead who, in The Artist, is a popular silent film start. Talkies enter the picture and his career goes crashing down. Meanwhile, he meets this young and equally charming actress whose career is on the up. They don’t spend the entire moving making passionate love to one another, but they are present in each other’s lives – even if from a distance.

Zsolt and I were enthralled with this picture from the opening scene. It’s sweet. It’s funny. It’s very clever. Frankly, I’d say it’s a perfect Valentine’s day picture simply because of its light, humorous and love-struck aspects, but also because of the quality. Quality film, no doubt.

Just because romantic comedies are cheesy as a rule doesn’t mean there cannot be some shining exceptions.

Once upon a time, in a memory far away, I was reading some interview with the Canadian author Modicai Richler. And in this interview, he talks about a letter he once found that his son had written to his school. Basically, the son is swearing and angry and ripping up the school, and plans on sending in the letter. Mr Richler reads it, and instead of getting angry with his son’s horrible langauge . . . he edits the letter. All the “Fuck yous,” and “Fuck this” and “Fuck everyones” were removed. All except for one at the end, where he left a final ‘Fuck You’. Passing the letter back to his son, he explains that when going for impact: less is more.

I’ve never forgotten that. It’s one reason I detest the triple, or even double, exclamation mark (!!!). (Except when in brackets; you can get away with anything if it’s place between two brackets.) And it’s one of the reasons that The Artist is such a success despite being a mainly silent movie. The music takes on more meaning. The movements are more important. The looks are deeper. And subtle background noises suddenly gain huge significance.

A movie about silent films, which is silent, and which struggles within that silence . . . Gosh, it was good.

Just go and see it, eh? I could write more – but what’s the point? There’s a cute dog, fabulous physicality, great style . . . but none of this matters unless you see the movie. (And try for before noon, if you want to catch that discount.)

So, that was our Valentine’s Day adventure. Two days early because we don’t want to pay extra on the actual day. And yeah, we’re a little stingy . . . but I still enjoy a beautiful moment. This film was full of beauty. As was the experience of snuggling up to my husband in a dark theatre, and enjoying our splurge purchase of pop corn.

Lovely date, no? I hope your Valentine’s day is just as nice. 🙂

(And after the film, we attempted to walk around outside, but Zsolt was wearing his street shoes – no boots – and basically froze to the point of non-enjoyment. Therefore, we hid in Walmart and called home for a ride. I felt like a 14 year old again.)