My nose?

When I was 42 years OLD, my husband, from whom I was divorcing, said to me:: 'your life as woman is finished, not one would have you any more.' To old? Of course, he was in love with a 17 year old, more then half our age.

A little later, I looked at the last photo he made of me, in profile, 'is this me? This long nose?' I was always aware of my freckled skin, but it was the first time I noticed my nose!

Going to visit my father and friends, to another country, I told of my sorrow to my step mother: 'no one wants and will want me any more!'

'No problem, she replied, I know a doctor who can arrange your nose for you and shortly you'll have a nice one!' Of course, she knew that would make my father angry at me and that is what she wanted.

Exactly as she expected my father told me.
'No way you touch your nose! '
' I am adult now, more then 42 years old, I do not need someone else to tell me now what to do or not do.'
' I disherit you if you go!'

I went away from their house, crying, deciding to sleep at my aount's. He had an older friend, a charming, 80 years old man, loving my 75 years old aount dearly and making even dinner for her, for us, that evening.

'So what is the problem?' he asked me at dessert.
I told hime my sorrow and about my nose and my father.
'Your nose is part of your personality, you'd not like to loose it, it is great, makes you charming and interesting,' he said.

'But the men...'
'Do you look at them?'
'Look?'
'Choose the one you want, look at him, then look away and let him come after you, fight for you.'
'Ah!'
'You'll have as many as you want!' he told me. 'And leave your interesting face as it is!'

I kept my nose, my stepmother lost her battle.

And when a few month later I went to the US, yes, many men looked at me, and I did not feel OLD any more.

My nose did not bother me ever since.
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I am preparing this story loosely translated English, for my next ToastMaster's meeting.

I did give a lecture of it in the French countryside ten years ago and it was accompagned with lots of laughs from the audience. A year ago, as I played it in a small café in Paris, no one found it funny.

When I wrote it the first time, real story fragment from my life, I thought it was full of tragedy, but uplifting at the end. I am waiting to see the response to it next week.

At Flickr, where I published it under my photo, I did have already feedback, one as I hoped, expected! People telling what they were bothered about on themselves, others telling about the character counting and not the appearance, and yet others encouraging. Of course, on the Flickr the images got the attention, then, some of them read the text too.

Flowers along the street

The Magnolia tree was beautiful, and I went back again with my camera, as I have never seen one where some of the flowers got so near the earth.

And then suddenly taking photo after photo of them, like this one for example, I see a tiny blue iris, almost hidden under the tree.

Why not take it too?

Less impressive, near all those huge flowers, but still smiling to me, modestly. I had to go nearer, so small relative to the others!

Got home, looked through my pictures: it is almost my favorite now from the dozens different flowers I took yesterday morning!

Flowers and peace

This morning, I took some photos of the flowers along the road, and also just before my entrance.

Most of them I knew already, but such an abundance!

Of course, as I am not a specialist of flower photography.

I take four or five times as much as come out well, but some of them, some angles or arrangements are not so bad after all.

Home, listening to the television, I was touched a lot, even more after the crossing of the river between Germany and France, and remembering all the after fighting of the World war two.

Remembering what we suffered, our family, how many died or was dispersed all over the world, and how alone I felt after, we, my father, mother and me, arrived finally home after a year of fleeing and hiding.

For me the 60 year's ceremony transmitted did signify something.

Eastern eggs in Bucarest

It was three years ago.

I was in Bucarest during Eastern time, alone.

The lady from downstairs, invited me in, when she show me admiring the quantity of eggs she was preparing for Eastern. These are only a few of them.

I went away with three too, and put them on my table, until finally I decided to eat them. But she did give me also two eggs without anything inside, wonderfully decorated, one of them I still have as decoration. The other one was dropped by one of my grand children while they admired it. Oups! Fragile!

Eggs are a tradition in Hungary too, were the young men go to put water (or perfume) on young girls. I remember when I was 14 waiting, hoping, someone will come to arose me too, but only my neighborhood college got many coming to her. That was my saddest Eastern, because I waiting for something I could not get, something not depending on me.

What you do in Romania for Eastern? the young woman I met a week ago asked me. One clicks two eggs together, each in someone else hand. "Christ resuscitated" sais one, "Really he had" answers the other.

Of course, Eastern is a very old festival of spring, even older the 2000 years. Pesah, the Jew Eastern is about escaping the Pharaon from Egypt and of not being slaves any more. In the dessert one could not bake bread and that is why one eats Matzos for a week. At least, of course that is the tradition.

I am sure, before that is even older costumes that were there to show the happiness of spring, renewal coming.

When I was child, some of my family invited us and hid Matzos and the children finding it got a gift, and we, at home made red eggs, I learned even to paint them. I also learned to open two small holes and get out what was inside, so the hand painted egg does not alter.

But no boys arriving to our house. Of course, I had not interest in them all the year, so it was finally my choice. First time I really looked at a boy, I was already 23 years old, until then I just dreamed. Dreams do not get you a lover, do not get you a partner, even not to kiss you!

You have at first at least look at them, tell them by your look that you are at least, interested!

Finally, at 23 I did look, and I did, for the first time in my life, get at least kissed. And kissed back. Nothing more. I did not think he was serious enough. I did not think he loved me or I did him, also perhaps, who knows. Anyway, I went away for a month and he went out with one of my girlfriends and kissed her. Then it was so easy finally to drop him, instead of agonizing "should I or not go farther?"

So many things happened Easter time in my life!

I was 25 when we went to a market to buy cheese and tomatoes to pick nick and to the forest with another boy, with whom I dated for more then a year already, and there, in the deep forest - was it really there? that I decided, I have waited enough. I did not want to arrive at exact 25 without becoming a woman.

We went to an attic room his friend had. I read him a poem. He kissed me. Later, he did become the father of my children. But it all begun Eastern time.

People love being noticed

Early in 2005 I discovered the photos taken all over the world far away places by Babasteve, from flickr, and that is when I decided "me too, I'll take unknown people around me".

I did like the contact already and the sensation of togetherness for the instant acknowledgment of each other, that offered me and continue to do so. A mutual joy.


In Paris, along the Mufatlar market, where I admired her hairdo.

Or a tiny village market in Morocco, the contact was there too.

Or with this youngster in Trafalgar Square, he was also, and I think one can see from his expression too, happy to have been remarked, appreciated.

As I was with the look in their eyes towards me. That is one important interactions too, the one between the photographer and the other human being we meet. Perhaps, it can last more, perhaps, all is only through eyes and body language, but it is a special wonderful, and I think more and more, a mutual feeling too.

Interactions

We begin the month of Interactions (with...) or Relationship, in Afterclass group at flickr.

One can interact with its subject or arrange objects to interact with each other, or shoot interactions between people or even thing about interactions between an object and its background, like here.

This is a background my grand daughter age ten, arranged to take the photo of the lamb I received recently from Andy and Rachel, taken by her camera.


And this is her with the lamb, taken by me, a few minutes later.

CRC from Toastmasters Evaluation

I was one of the Evaluators tonight, at the Toastmaster meeting, my role was to tell my opinion about the technique of speech of one of the new speakers, so I encourage and give also food for improvement.

In the Toastmaster's (TM) jargon, this is done by CRC.

What is CRC???

CRC is a jargon for Commendations, Recommendations, Commendations, meaning to sandwich the positive and constructive critique, between prise and encouragement, to build confidence at the same time teach and give ideas of improvement.

I lived the idea, even if tact is not my force, but did not like the jargon. Plus, I did know the word PRAISE but this is the first time I heard "commendation" which seemed to me precious.

I survived well, first of all because it was a marvelous speech I had to tell my opinion of, interesting, well delivered, a great example of first great speech, but I think it would have been good even for the 5th or 6th speech!

I got again people laughing, and I have to admit I so enjoy when they do so. And of course, I got critiqued at my tour for my evaluation: good speech, humor, well delivered, but the end not strong enough. That was the problem with my last speech too: as soon as I see the light signaling I arrive towards the end of my delivery, I loose my insurance and finish to fast and not strong enough: something to work on!