grasswire

Another curious thing - time. Although measuring time is standardised, people in your time zone live in remarkably different times. You know what I mean, not all of us are stuck with present - some people might still be fighting WW2 while others stubbornly linger in the eighties. And for some, time has stopped. But even when time stops, it apparently doesn’t stop for everybody at the same time and on the same terms. At least not in Bosnia (seen today in K. Dubica). So what time are you on/in?

Friendship and gifts can be a tricky thing. On the one hand, you hardly have one without some sort of the other. But on the other hand, they gifts can be disappointing, occasionally even so much to make you think about the friendship part. How well do your friends know you? Your taste? Your desires? Your needs? Its one thing if your relatives miss their shot, but your friends…

But actually, I’m not writing this to complain - but to brag how lucky we have been this summer. There were surprise packets, much appreciated envelopes in mailbox, pins and unexpected gifts like the heavy book you see above that my dear poet friend dragged across the ocean as he returned from his one-year consensual exile in US. Of course, it’s not about particular gifts (though some are great in themselves), it’s about the gesture that confirms that someone knows you, or your desires. And that feels really good.

Well, don’t get alarmed by this post, I won’t hate you if you “miss” yours. Here is a favorite quote of mine from a film called Late night shopping to confirm the point: “We are friends, the rest is just details”.

Black eye strikes again - here is a new edition of things as they are. This time presenting carrots, first in a series of bizarre-shaped vegetables.
Got it for free from our kind vegetable vendor on the market.

If you don’t feel like writing your PhD make somebody else do the job :)) Well, Tamara is improving her computer skills (notice the pop up dialogue box she managed to activate) and pretty soon, she will be able to take dictation. But until then, I’m on my own… Had a lovely weekend full of sun and Tamara’s tricks. Like insisting that she eats all by herself. Or trying to bite her way out of her bed, and I mean literally bite through. She is obviously pretending to be a beaver – she stands up, grabs the wooden fence, leans her mouth to it and all you hear next is “rask rask” sound. Traces are more than visible :))

It feels so nice to have friends!! I just got back from a bowling quickie with my ex co-workers from the heroic days of Slovene high-tech industry, stock options and a boss that wanted to save the company by running a porn server. Those were the days :)) Wished I could stay for another hour or so but I did continue with socialising a bit - with Tartu crowd - on facebok after we put Tamara to bed. Now it’s back to late night reading. Kind of like bowling, this was only my second time but I think I could develop a grip for it. Next time I’ll use a slightly lighter ball, that is if I remember which one I used today.

I have some friends that I admire because they really are fulfilling their big, radical dreams. Like Miha that moved to Uganda and started Edirisa, or Kristian who brought about this post in the first place. Well, the guy is racing across Atlantic from France to Brasil in a tiny, 6,5m sail boat. Solo. For the second time. Actually, there are two Slovenes on the race and if you want to follow the two week adventure, click here. There is a nice map which pinpoints the positions of all 89 contestants and while you satisfy your voyeuristic on-line impulses, you could ask yourself about your dreams? Do you still dare to dream? Big dreams.
While you are awake, of course.

On Friday, my mom called franticly, wanting to know if we’d come to visit her over the weekend, the reason being that this was to be the last weekend of good weather for some time. And by stressing that point, she gave us even more reasons not to go. :)) So we had a nice, standard Saturday morning in Kamnik, which means going to our vegetable market and flea market, buying newspaper and reading a hilariously witty weekly column by a Croatian writer over a cup of coffee. While not believing in the doom weather forecast, we did seize every opportunity to catch some comforting sun. Tamara, on the other hand, seized every opportunity to grab a bite, or something to bite, to be more precise.

Just one of the sights from my afternoon stroll with Tamara.
Is this what Janice Joplin was singing about? Anyway, enjoy your weekend.

Look what I found in our shop today! Bazooka!! Well, I knew they were still producing them but it has been a while since I was able to lay my hands on it. Chewy and sweet as ever, the only difference from the time we were counting the Yugoslav Dinar and Pare coins in our tiny hands to buy them is the bar code on the back of the wrap. But instead of going down the memory lane and start feeling old (there will be plenty of time for that in December), let me explain the pic for the uninitiated. It was common to chew just half of it at the time, leaving the other half to stick to the inside of your pants pocket. Apparently the wrap has a patriotic tune - it represents the colours of US flag, but it is also the colour scheme of the old Yugoslav flag, you just have to turn it upside down (come to think of it, there is a certain symbolism in that).

Any Bazooka(like) stories you would like to share?

Well, I guess it all has to do with the quality of the weekend. So no wonder today sucks – not only am I back to translating some god forsaken text on public opinion, we are also out of home-made sweets (both Dragana’s pumpkin-apple pie and my apfel strudel are just vague memory and a handful of crumbs). Apart from food, the weekend was really refreshing. Saturday was all about the classic stroll through vegetable market and long coffee with dear friends. And catching the sun rays that only increased our laziness. Sunday had a different face, that of mountaineering. We climbed up to alpine meadows of Menina (well, drove up, to be honest) but than we took Tamara for a mini hike during which she was shouting with joy. All in all, it was a proper mountaineering feeling, with seasoned climbers in chequered shirts rinsing their salami with blueberry brandy or over sweetened tea from metal cups to the tune of cow bells. Stew was of sufficient quality and Tamara, of course, was the star of the mountain cottage.