The end of summer

This month we got a booklet "Be Emergency Ready". They cover a checklist of essential items that's good to keep at home, etc. It's supposed to prepare us for "periods of disruption" caused by flooding, storms, air incidents; additionally, on the website, somewhere among the items, I spotted "disruptive use of drones" and "nuclear accident abroad". No one mentions the word "war". In Poland, the leaflets of this kind are more straightforward. I've read somewhere that the UK is also preparing for something looming on the horizon -- their government is updating its War Books and they plan a national public-awareness campaign.

"In a sense it's now a bit like those Edwardian summers before 1914, when there was a lot of talk of war but the notion of actually going to war seemed so far-fetched as to be beyond belief and I think that's where we are at the moment," said someone (I do know who, just retired British generals don't interest me that much).

The summer is officially over today. Let's hope for the best.

I’m sorry, Catherine

Kind of funny, but also not

Any news?

A lot! Half of it I already don't remember ;) We spent part of last week in Poland. I had my hair cut (a success) and tried to figure out how to change my diet (less so). I’ve been having some stomach issues which is a bit worrying, especially as coeliac disease runs in my Dad’s side of the family. At first, I thought soft cheese might be the culprit, so I cut down on lactose. That hasn’t been easy, as I love cheesecake, flat white, and yoghurt. Well, it had to be done, and it helped a bit, but now, when I’m paying more attention, I can see things haven’t improved as much as I’d hoped. I’ve booked a GP appointment, we'll see if they can shed some light on it.

After getting back from Poland, and sleeping through most of St Patrick's Day, we had Fred’s appointment at the oncology clinic. The news here is good: whatever the shadow in his lungs is, it's not growing, and it may be something as simple as scar tissue from dust. I’m very happy to accept that kind of diagnosis.

A few weeks ago I wanted to buy some woollen yarn in Poland, but the yarn I chose for my jumper isn’t available at the moment. Patience is a virtue, I mumble to myself.

Before my short holiday I decided to change my iPhone 13 to a Samsung S25. It was a good swap, I wasn’t interested in fixing an issue with the old phone, and I also wanted to change my internet provider (that turned out well too, Eir is much more reliable than Tesco Mobile). And ... a while ago iPhones stopped being cool anyway.

In the meantime, the Orange idiot has managed to stir things up again, this time involving Iran. Petrol prices are soaring, because apparently we can’t have just one problem at a time.

Below, some random photos from the time I wasn’t posting: the last day of February, first hours in Poland and Warsaw block of flats in the middle of the night, Mruczysław the Cat, empty grave in a forgotten evangelical cemetery, Jelenia Góra, and blooming Rip van Winkles.

Well :I

After reading what's going on in Minneapolis

I can't help but feel that ICE officers aren't mentally very different from Russian soldiers killing Ukrainians; similarly, the Orange Man's supporters and Putin supporters ... I wouldn’t know where to look for differences when comparing only their states of mind and sense of entitlement. A miscarriage of justice seems almost identical to what happens in Russia. I'm sure there are many decent folk there who try to do better than the government, but still ... what a disillusionment with a country of so-called prosperity.

Cats, humans, bullies

Bronek, my parents' cat, is still among the living. He gets a lot of medication, and I suppose he is not entirely aware that his life hangs by a hair. One of his sisters, Frania, has also tested positive :I Our girls, on the other hand, are in the best of health, length and width. We and our neighbours adore them. 

Have already finished reading five books this year, including The Gathering by Anne Enright. An enjoyable read, though it covers some really tough subjects. Currently, I'm in the middle of Ditlevsen's The Copenhagen Trilogy (have finished Youth). 

Can't believe it's already the second half of January; I go to work, spend time with my husband, deal with first-world problems, while occasionally hearing about what's happening on the "western front". The Orange Man's actions in his own country and abroad are heinous, but hey, who knows, they might bring some good for Europe. Just as Ukrainians have started using their own language after the Russian bear attacked them, so I've started looking for European products to support our own economy instead of feeding the bullies with my own money. It's my private politics, not very strict, just something I ponder about while shopping.

One life

I'm a bit worried about the situation in Poland, though I'm not sure there's actually anything to worry about. Russians, these belligerent, booze-soaked neighbours, have plenty of its own problems, the ongoing war in Ukraine is bleeding their country dry, more and more each year. 

If people truly understood how precious their one and only life is, we wouldn't have wars anymore: no one would dream of being a soldier, it would be too absurd.

On a brighter note (?), just one day to go, and I'll be my own boss.

Oh, and we were there last Saturday evening.

Fidgeting strangers

Politicians who constantly invoke religion are the bane of this world. Unfortunately, as of today, one of these types is now president of Poland. Thankfully, in Poland the president doesn’t hold as much power as the prime minister does -- unlike in the US. Still, it’s a worrying sign of where a portion of my compatriots seems to be heading: resentment towards immigrants, fearfulness, anti-intellectualism, nationalism, and support for other nasty things wrongly called "tradition", like hypocrisy, violence, nepotism & hierarchies. There’s not much I can do about it, I can vote and keep living on my own terms.

I’ve been reading a really good book recently, Will and Testament by Vigdis Hjorth. It caused quite a stir in Norway after it was published, mostly because the author’s family seemed to recognise themselves in the story, and they were quick to insist that they weren’t like that (what a hypocritical move -- either you recognise yourself in a fictional story, or you don’t, either you know it’s you, or you don’t). The topic is quite heavy: what starts as a dispute over inheritance is soon overshadowed by a serious accusation involving two of the siblings who, at some point, became estranged from the rest of the family.

When I was queuing to buy a flat white and a croissant (the ones in the photo) during my lunch break, there was a guy in front of me tossing and fidgeting with impatience while one of the baristas was serving someone else. The guy kept checking the door, glancing out at the street, like he was waiting for a bus or something. Finally, he was served and went out very agitated. Thought he’d get whatever he had been expecting, but no. I saw him again twenty minutes later, walking with the same impatient energy. I realised, he wasn’t really waiting on anything. The restlessness was from within, not connected to the world.

Peaks and politics

The past week and a half has been rather busy and full of all sorts of emotions. Fred and I paid a visit to my parents, who live down in Lower Silesia. We also stopped in to see Fred’s aunt and her husband in the Opole Voivodeship, and caught up with a good friend of ours who's only recently moved to Waldenburg (we spent some valuable time with her and her three rats).

In the middle of it all, we had hoped to get a bit of hiking in -- and we did! Last Tuesday, we managed to wander through the highest peak of the Table Mountains, Szczeliniec Wielki. It’s a marvellous spot, and we were lucky to catch a few hours of fairly decent weather.

The next day, we took a stroll through Waldenburg’s King John III Sobieski Park, and of course we climbed the observation tower, which is known for its panoramic views of the town. After saying goodbye to our Waldenburg friends, on the way back to my family home, we visited The Holy Trinity Church of Peace in Świdnica, the biggest wooden Baroque church in Europe.

By Saturday, we were heading back home to Dublin, keen to cast our votes in the presidential election (the flight itself was a bit rough).

Then Monday came, and brought bad news with it: the nationalists had won. It’s disheartening how many controversial politicians win on the back of aggressive, conservative rhetoric alone. Nawrocki, the new Polish president, seems cut from the same cloth as the Orange Man over in the States – a shady character, voted in mostly because religious talk still holds sway over people living in fear. Have nothing to be ashamed of anyway, I didn't vote for him, but still ...

Below, the first morning in my family home and my late grandma's flat window seen from the garden; a cat idling outside our favourite coffee shop; one of my parents' cats, blind Niunia; walks with my Mum and husband; me hiking through Szczeliniec; one of the Waldenburg's mosaics; the Waldenburg boys; friend's recommendation; the Holy Trinity Church of Peace in Świdnica; my pork pie, my folks.

In the middle

It's the second full day at my parents' house now, we've had two (and a half) days of lovely sunshine and warmth. The flight on the 2nd was quite smooth, though we had a bit of a bumpy landing. Surprisingly, once on the ground, there was almost no wind. 

All the pets are healthy, though little stinky Max is even stinkier than before. My parents aren't sure how old he is; he started living with them only five years ago, and he could have been around 5 at the time. For sure, he's definitely getting on in years, especially for a mix of Shih Tzu from a puppy farm. On the other hand, Gosia, Little Raspberry's sister, is living her dream. As her aggression has subsided with age, though deaf and partially blind, she's now happier than ever before, enjoying the sunshine in the open space instead of in a kennel.

As I love walking and there aren't many places to walk here (the lumberjacks are working in the forest, it's not too safe there at the moment), yesterday I took a leisurely stroll to the local cemetery and back with Dad. We lit candles on both graves – my grandparents' and my granddad's aunt; then we drove to another cemetery, the one in Hochkirch, where my dad's parents are buried. 

Today we went for a walk around the town. Still very warm, my olive coat is too much for this weather.

Of course, we had coffees at El Gato twice, again only Dad and I; Mum wasn't part of our adventures, as she's still working full-time and usually wraps up at 3 p.m. Quite unusual for someone her age (71), but I feel it keeps her going. She once told me she doesn't want to be considered a senior citizen.

I've been avoiding political subjects, no news, no talk shows. The first day Mum suggested I should take all my old diplomas with me, as people are talking about the war coming from Ukraine. It’s certainly not impossible (those pampered in the West rarely have any idea what's going on in the East, it's just the way it is; they live in alternate reality and vote for tv personalities instead of politicians), but I won't let it spoil my inner peace.  

Below, a short video made at the back garden.

From Saturday to Sunday

Saturday was calm and uneventful. Talked to my neighbour, knowing I would need a lift the next day (her mum is coming from the USA to visit in a few days, I hope to meet her). Listened to the audiobook Moscow-Petushki, a prose by Venedikt Yerofeyev from around 1969-70, very moving. I watched the interview with Rosie O'Donnell who recently immigrated to Ireland. Good luck for her, I believe it's a great place to be.

Sunday, on the other hand, was a day of earthly delights. Anne drove me to town, and I waited for Fred to clock off. Of course, I went to the coffee shop, and waited while reading the next book. There was enough time to finish Włodek Goldkorn's prose on the Shoa and start something else, another one of Keegan's story collections. I was already in my fancy shoes and coat, Fred had to change, but it didn't take him long and from Droichead Átha we could go to Dublin.

Ah, Richard Wagner! It was a very interesting interpretation of The Flying Dutchman, with Giselle Allen as Senta; we rarely listen to Wagner, and still, we were both impressed.

Below, we're going back to the car left on Hanover St East, admiring Dublin architecture at night.

The lesson

What's the lesson? It's better to do what you need to do prior to holidays, than leave your tasks until the last minute before going back to work. You don't want to find yourself scrambling to catch up over the weekend, right? Right. I did some paper work yesterday and today, because I'm learning the hard way ;)

Fred and I, we spent Saturday evening with our friend, in the final weekend of him being a grass widower. Happy time. We chatted about rats (real ones, smart animals) and politics (this awful situation with Zełenski, a war hero; the Orange man's enablers should be ashamed of themselves), but not in depth. I didn't want to see rat's dead body (not happy he was killed), and I wasn't interested in rewatching the Trump-Zełenski row stirred up by the unhinged human, who most likely never had to write a resume, having spent his whole career in his dad's company. Well, instead we watched a film by Emir Kusturica, On the Milky Road. Rather dissapointing, started off quite nicely, but turned into a piece of propaganda. Still, it was worth spending time in a good company, and then returning home in a thick, fairylike fog.

Today at home the whole day. Fred's cooking bigos. I talked to Mum on the phone, she sounded happy and interested, were exchanging news for almost half an hour. In the evening we watched The French Connection as our tribute to the late Gene Hackman. After all these years, it remains a great film. Gene turned 95 in January; was found dead last Wednesday, the cause of his passing is still a mystery. 

I have to be up early tomorrow, but don't feel like going to sleep just yet, want to sqeeze in some reading; Fred is busy in the kitchen.

Greyness

The weekend was dominated by a Jysk display cabinet we were so vigorously assemblying ;) and my thoughts about Monday. Monday was fast like lightning, and felt like a freight train ride. When I came back home, wanted only to lie down and sleep hard. Not like anything devastating had happened or the job interview went extremelly bad, I went out relieved and actually quite content, but the whole day my brain was tired of talking to herself.

The weather's awful, cold, damp, and grey. It's actually the same atmospheric conditions over and over again since the beginning of February. It supposed to be (isn't it?) spring in Ireland, but instead it feels like we stuck with capricious, maritime late winter bored with its own repetitiveness. The good mood is simply sucked out of me, it leaks through skin.

Today we went to Cairlinn. We had a nice chat with Garrett, and a pretty decent lunch, but in between was difficuly to find pleasure in walking around the town village (as they call it), too cold.

Below, we tried however; Mainistir Chairlinn and Slieve Foy in the background.

For several weeks or even months now I've been avoiding watching political news. It's painful to witness the Dilbert principle in action and Mr. Trump experiencing his Peter's plateau for the second time, all thanks to voters eating off paper plates.