A Love Between Two Aliens

Last night Zsolt and I were laying in bed and talking. This is what we do, and I reckon it’s what many couples do. I was asking him if he thought we’ve always known one another and could sense each other out across the world before we even met.

He figured that was unlikely. Though he did think it was a miracle we met at all, and quite a remarkable thing if you consider the infinite number of aspects that had to line up for us to meet in that hostel in Nice, and at that time in our lives. The odds are basically even higher than winning the lottery.

I said true enough. It was a miracle that we met, and that we’re together. And I also said that I reckon we did know each other in some sense, even if it wasn’t a past life. Right from the start our energies synced up and I knew he was for me.

He said that maybe we were synced somehow.

You and MeAnd then I came up with the idea that maybe we’re just aliens passing through, and we’re travelling together across the universe – since we enjoy travelling so much – and living a variety of lives and existences as we get to know a place.

He said if that was the case, then we better enjoy our time on earth since we’ll not be stopping here again.

I agreed. I love earth, but if the universe is on offer, how can a alien/person/soul not want to go out there and explore it?

I asked him where he wants to visit next.

He said he didn’t know, but it will be good.

It will be good, I agreed.

Then we talked about Earth, because we’re here now and enjoying ourselves. The people are nice and the scenery is beautiful. Except, of course, not everyone is nice and not everything is beautiful. Certainly not everything is easy. But we like it anyhow. It’s a miracle that it exists, just like it’s a miracle that we are together. And I kinda enjoyed thinking of myself as an alien who is living in a body and passing through.

So, even if he might not believe in past lives, and I might not believe in coincidences, we both certainly believe in miracles. And aliens.

Every day with my husband is a miracle. I couldn’t get more lucky than having him as a companion for travelling the universe, and for talking in bed late at night. So, that is that and I’m very glad for it.

To Zsolt on Valentine’s Day: I love you. : ) Obviously!

A golden kind of silence

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.)

Happy Valentine’s Day

Happy Valentine’s Day! How are you celebrating this love-filled day? Roses and wine, maybe some chocolates? Sounds very good. Throw in a bubble bath and I’ll be there in ten minutes (with a book to read while the bathroom door is closed and I sink into the suds – no funny business allowed, thank you very much).  As for Zsolt and I, the day was business as usual with a card here and personalized stamp set there. Also, I’m making töltött káposzta for dinner with a Hungarian recipe that I cannot read – handwriting being so subjective – and hoping things go well for a nice romantic dinner. Zsolt is snuggling up to his supervisor at the University, going through his thesis.

Today was busy for various reasons: radiotherapy, career fair, lecture about internet marketing, work of the library, visit from the shipping company, and doctor’s appointment. It was the appointment that really had my attention.  Looking at the day, it appears to be busy, but in reality it is distracting.

Distraction was needed.

Half way through my library shift I left to walk over to the Doctor’s office. Two things were required: One, renew my prescription and Two, get a referral to the breast clinic.

Arriving at the doctor’s I checked myself in and took a seat. At the moment I’m reading this book called “Mennonite in a little black dress” which is, somewhat like this blog, a light encounter with shitty circumstances (and great family stories) – plus, the author is funny. I love funny. So there I was waiting for the doctor, reading my book, and trying not to stare at the children in the reception playing with the table of shapes on windy painted wires. Remember those? There’s a table with different colour blocks – and somehow, as a child, it is fascinating to wind them along the wire. I remember many a doctor’s office and health food stores where that windy wire captivated my imagination.

Lately children bring up weird feelings – I’m not sure whether to like them, resent them, want them, play with them, or just ignore them. Heck, some are adorable (e.g. my friend’s tiny girl with the ever-smiling face; she saw me without any hair and just smiled, so innocently, like I was anyone else and there was nothing wrong with that. Geez, she was cute), actually most kids are adorable. Lately, I haven’t spotted a child who wasn’t totally sweet and charming. But they always remind me that I still haven’t gotten my period. And more so, they remind me of the baby/breast hospital where I was first diagnosed. Clearly this a bad association, and something I ought shake off. But for now, babies remind me of 2 things: possible infertility, and possible breast cancer.

Which takes me back to the chair in the waiting room, ignoring the children, and anxious to speak with my doctor about these lumps in my left breast.

She opens the door –sporting a stylish new haircut – and calls me in with a grin. This is a university health care center. The chances of being remembered by your doctor are generally not high, but she remembers me (flattering) because of my breast lump (less flattering), which she referred to the breast clinic. Let’s call her Dr Kind.

Why Dr Kind? Because I like her. 🙂  She is genuine in her concern, and for some reason I find it infinitely easier to talk with this woman about my worries than any of the other doctors. It’s not just because she is a woman (thought that’s partly the reason, I guess); when the cancer was first confirmed she was notified by fax from the general hospital. Upon receiving this fax, she called me on my mobile and invited me in for a chat. That’s good doctoring.

Anyhow, I go up on her table and take off my top, and she starts prodding around. Funny, taking off my top is like nothing now. All that self-consciousness has flown out the window. She commented on how my scar has healed nicely, and I didn’t realize I was showing her my scar – In my head, this is my chest. I forget that a breast is missing, because I don’t notice as much anymore.

That’s a good sign, eh.

Anyhow, she starts prodding. There are bumps and lumps in my left breast, which is normal for a young woman with dense tissue. The question here is: are they cancerous?

“They couldn’t be reoccurance,” she assured me. “Not this long after chemo.”


“It’d have to be a new cancer.”


“But I really think you have nothing to worry about, it’s really quite soon.”


“Though that’s what I said last time.”


And then we laughed, because it was funny – a little dark, but funny. Here we were in the same situation as last May, and she was giving me the same reassurance (don’t worry, it’s probably nothing). Except it was something.

But not this time. That’s what I’m praying. Fingers crossed, legs crossed, arms crossed, eyes crossed. Not thing time, okay? Tomorrow I’ll call the clinic to arrange an appointment. She’s faxed off the referral so they’ll be waiting for my call. But this time I want better results. The hot springs of Hungary are waiting. It’s time for some peace of mind.

Weird going back to the doctor’s office, the very place I first took my initial lump.  Weird laughing at how far we’ve come. But sometimes all you can do is laugh. Laugh or cry, they’re not too different after all.

And that – in a nut shell – was my very busy Valentine’s Day.