Happy Canada Day, Canadians!

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Happy Canada day!!!

This time of year Ottawa becomes crazy with red, white, hot dogs, burgers, beer, bbqs and fireworks.  It is a slice of Canadiana – our mass assemblage in the streets of downtown (where people sell Canada t-shirts, Canada-whistles, Canada-hats, Canada-anythingyoucanstickalabelon), and a day when everyone smiles at everyone, and people are in a damn good mood.

Ah, one of these days I’ll take Zsolt along to the party. Maybe even next year?

And in the meanwhile, I’d like to wish everyone back home a wonderful, exciting, and safe Canada day – have fun, eat food, visit cottages.

Yay for Canada! Wohoo!

Another kind of healing

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Life, Love by

The sun is setting and there’s a three hour train ride to Pecs, Zsolt’s home town, on the horizon. But a sunset train ride is certainly the way to go, if you’ve got to go anywhere, and I’ve got that last burst of dusk to enjoy before twilight settles (and the vampires come out . . . we are close to Transylvania after all, and Bela Lugosi was the vampire of vampires, and a Hungarian to boot.)

Today Zsolt and I were alone – just the two of us. That hasn’t happened in a long, long time. I love (LOVE) the company of friends and family, but this morning Zsolt suggested we stay in bed and just hang out, something that hasn’t been done in months, and without any obligations to meet or people to host, it sounded like a fine idea to me.

For some reason (menopause, worries, allergies, etc) my ‘nerves’ have been on edge lately. Any little thing is enough to get me cranky, and poor Zsolt is the receiver of my outbursts. Just yesterday I kicked up a fuss (i.e. got angry) because Zsolt thought it was a stupid idea to raise my bike seat . . . okay, the seat is already very high, I guess that’s reasonable, but I simply didn’t like my idea being rejected so outright, particularly since it’s my seat. Anyhow – cue my hissy fit, followed by day-long discomfort between the two of us. All over a stupid bike seat.

Never – ever, ever, ever – would I get so bent out of shape with friends, or co-workers, or even (probably) family over a bike seat . . . but Zsolt is my Zsolt, meaning for better and worse, we get the honest raw truth of one another.  

There are some things I don’t often talk about in my blog, for instance: sex, grudges, and arguments. Doesn’t mean they aren’t vitally important, doesn’t mean they don’t play key roles in my life, doesn’t mean I’m disinterested in the subjects – actually, I’m  a fan of chatting about one’s sex life with the right group of friends, but my grandmother reads this blog, so this has got to be the wrong arena for a frank conversation about s-e-x).

But occasionally, I do allude to the tension. For all the amazing things Zsolt and I have become with each challenge, each move, each triumph and each hurdle,  I’d be a blatant liar to pretend that the past year hasn’t caused a strain in our relationship. Don’t get me wrong – I in no way doubt my love for Zsolt, nor his love for me, and I in no way doubt that he’s my moon and stars and turquoise Mediterranean sea (or my wide, blue Balaton with the grass beaches and twenty year old bicycles, or my Canadian maple under which I read ) – he’s all those things and more. But it’s just damn hard to go through a year of cancer battling and not have things change, not have that tension.

I think we need to heal in a way that doesn’t get mentioned in the online forums or how-to cancer booklets. And this morning was an excellent step toward recovery. We were alone. We were together. We talked about our feelings. It was restorative, and ought to be done more often.

So today has been lovely. Today I’ve tried to worry less and relax more. 

And tomorrow is Zsolt’s birthday. He’s turning 30. Thirty years, and going strong – that’s my man. I love him to bits – bits and pieces and scoops and dollops. Meeting him was the best thing I’ve ever done. Marrying him was the best decision I’ve ever made. Being with him is the best medicine I could ever take. And all the while, he’s just trucking along – being Zsolt. Turning thirty isn’t a bad thing, not in the least. It’s a gift of time, and hopefully, hopefully hopefully hopefully, we’ve got plenty of time ahead. Plenty of time, and a few good slices of birthday cake too.

Spiritual thrill ride with a Balatoni storm

Posted in Bumpboobs, Life, Travel, Writing by

Here we are on the porch in Balaton, sitting underneath the awning and watching the rain. There, on the table, are my indulgences: a cup of steaming tea and an unwrapped bar of dark chocolate (70% coco, if you’re curious). Everywhere – here at the table, there in the garden, beyond through the houses, up in the grey sky, and down along the cloudy water – is a sense of calm and peace and tranquillity. Except for last night.

Last night, after a successful stewing of goulash over the fire pit (and after eating that tasty goulash), a storm kicked up that put me in the mood for some night-time wonder. Zsolt and I (wise or unwise) headed to the lake side and watched the lightening streak across the far off northern shore. And ten meters away, on our southern shoreline, the water crashed into the rocks – while Balaton might be shallow (shallow, but very wide) there’s no way I’d have been enticed into that water.

The storm was, in short, magnificent.

I love to be overpowered by nature, made to feel small – and yet, and yet totally plugged in. Like I took my personal plug and inserted it into the storm’s crazy energy socket. You know what I mean? It’s a feeling of awe and wonder and fascination.  Almost spiritual.

Sometimes it’s good to be reminded that we are small, and the world is big. I cannot exactly say why, but that is my sense. It’s a beautiful thing (and very fitting for the gothic horror novel I’m currently reading, The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins).

Anyhow, after deciding the storm was a little too intense for safety standards, Zsolt and I retreated from the beach and I scribbled everything down in my journal. Now there’s probably a touch of Mr Collins’ voice in this description (because I absorb other people’s styles like a sponge), but I think it might actually fit the scenario.

Here is the Balaton storm, painted through words and jotted down in my journal, in the epistolary format of Mr Collins.

“We stood at the lakeside as my sweet Balaton turned into a churning mass of storm – wind gusting at near hurricane speeds against our faces (and bodies, and trees, and huts, and shore) as lightening cracked and crawled along the northern shoreline behind the Badacsony hills. Amazing! It’s awesome to witness a developing storm – awesome with the incredible power and force. Loved every second (despite being scared the waves would suck us up into the froth). It was an experience, inside and out. Awesome, absolutely Awesome.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a great storm. (blame it on the UK fizz and permanently mild weather)

There’s no particular reason I’m sharing this with you today, except that beautiful things ought to be shared. And last night was truly spectacular.  Sometimes we need to feel small. Sometimes we need to be awed. Sometimes we (I) need to plug into a higher power, whatever that may be.