Céadsearc

The Avon Lady

2005-10-02T16:39:00.000+02:00

The Avon Lady comes every other week or so. She usually comes on a Thursday or a Saturday, sometime after dinner. She brings a big green Avon bag stuffed with catalogues and free samples. She comes wearing bright colours and a big smile. She puts her bags down in the common area, goes around, knocks on doors, lets people know she is here. She engages in chit chat with everyone, shows the new catalogue to the ladies and shares make-up tips with them. She does everything like all the Avon Ladies in the world.

She is just a little bit different. The Avon Lady is in her twenties. She is a secondary school teacher. She has bright red hair and freckles and perfect
white teeth. She also has a reconstructed right breast. The Avon Lady is a breast cancer survivour.

She comes every other week to let the other survivours know that they, too can be beautiful, that they, too, can feel normal. She comes
and does make up, foot treatments, nails and everything else that anyone on the floor needs. And when the time to leave comes, she leaves the free samples
behind. One lady gets a little lipstick, another becomes the proud tester of some face creme. A little bottle of nail polish here, a perfume sample there. Small treasures for those on the floor. Men and women, who want to feel beautiful. Men and women, who yearn for being normal. Men and women, who need
small miracles to keep going. Men and women, who otherwise lack the means to get the things the Avon Lady sells.

The Avon Lady never makes profit on the floor. With an order here and there she just breaks even. Some months she spends a small fortune on the samples, but she still comes and indulges the patients. She pampers them, spoils them, makes them feel human.

The Avon Lady comes and she creates a spot of spring in the autumn.

Autumn

2005-10-02T16:35:00.000+02:00

Autumn is undoubtly and unchangably here. The last budding roses are battling the morning fog. Against the grey sky the flower colours come alive. They are so sharp, so well-defined and so clear--something that can never happen in the dazzling summer. They are almost unbelievable.

"I could give the RGB codes for them," the web designer in 8L says. I don't doubt him. He probably could.

We are both outside on the 3rd floor deck, looking at the flowers planted in the brown balcony pots. Above our heads dark clouds sail by slowly. It was raining earlier and the scent of rain is mixed with the smell of the city.

He lights a cigarette. I shake my head--the head nurse will chew him out if she sees him, and no doubt she will as the nurses' resting spot is right behind us. They can clearly see him on the deck.

Glistening raindrops rest on the leaves and the handle bar. The timid sunshine slips on the wet surface as I look for my reflection in the water. My face is strangly distorted, my nose and right eye seem huge, the rest of my face is miniscule in the raindrop.

Such simple things can amuse me.

I am starting to get cold, prompting me to go inside. I stop by the heater under the window, taking another look at the autumn sky, resting my hand on the pipe leading to the radiátor. My fingers involuntrarily curve over the warm iron--I can sense the heat with the bottom of my palm.

In the distance a solitary oak tree waves at me. Its friendly, calming green is but a passing memory, it is now replaced by proud and loud colours. The pride of a dying season. An orgy of colours unfolds as the cool breeze sweeps through the branches. The vanity of nature is in the autumn leaves: the brightest colours and the smell of dry leaves on the ground.

Small birds take flight from the branches of the old oak. They come into the city for the winter, taking refuge from the surrounding woods. Their bright blue blacks and yellow vests are a welcome sight in many households. Soon, birdfeeders will pop up all over the city. Students watch the feathered visitors with eager eyes, taking notes so they can share their observations with teachers and classmates at next week's Nature Studies class. In a few weeks I will be making a birdfeeder from an empty bottle.

Another autumn-scented impulse: the distinct smell of roasted apples, evoking an old memory of a fireplace in the sitting room of a small Victorian house in Ireland. I was lying on my stomach on a rug in front of the fire, munching on freshly roasted apples while reading Voltaire's Candide. My brother, sitting in the old brown leather armchair, wearing a silk robe, and playing with his pipe, was absorbed in a text from University, Jung or Freud, or possibly Piaget. My cat purred on my back, keeping me warm and happy as Candide's advetures unfolded.

A rattling sound brings me back to the present. The coffee cart is passing by. The lingering aroma makes me sniff the air.

The aid stops to ask me if I want a cup. I say no and start to wonder -- I ask her -- when Halloween became a part of the Hungarian culture as she gestures towards the new little Halloween cups. She shakes her head; she doesn't know either. It just happened. Undoubtedly, autumn is here. In a few weeks the Christmas preparations will begin. Children will begin to learn the St. Nicholas Day rhymes and songs, school decorations will change and the children of Jehovah's Witnesses will miss a day of school for the October 23 celebrations.

The countdown to spring begins.

Quo Vadis?

2005-08-06T14:59:00.000+02:00

To Karen

Today I was taking a small trip down to the little shop that caters to patients at the hospital, and I found a bunch of silicone bracelets for sale. After laughing at the poorly made fake LIVESTRONG bracelets I found some others that were not so poorly made and were somewhat inspiring, among them a bunch of Latin ones. While my Latin is rather poor, I picked up the meaning of a few, among which were the Quo Vadis bracelets.

Quo Vadis is often translated as "Where are we headed?" while the actual meaning is more like "Where do you go?" or "Whither goest thou?"

Quo vadis? Whither goest thou? This question is dating back to the Apocrypha, when Peter fleeing Rome on the Via Appia met Jesus Christ. Peter asked the Lord, "Domine, quo vadis?" Lord, where are you going? Christ's answer was simple: "I go into Rome to be crucified." Peter then realised the wrongness of his ways (quite literally) and returned to Rome where he was soon crucified upside down.

The phrase is also commonly associated with John 16:5. 5 But now I go my way to him that sent me; and none of you asketh me, Whither goest thou? (KJV)

Many times when I roam the corridors of the hospital or college, friends will stop me and ask me, "Where are you going?" If my destination isn't out of the way for them, they often offer to accompany me on my journey, be it short or long. They join me, walk with me, offering companionship on a path that leads me to my goal, even if it means a little detour for them. We are friends, we walk the road of life together, helping and entertaining each other. Sometimes when I have trouble with a threshold or some other not quite disabled friendly thing, they help me get over them. They help me to make them stepping stones instead of stumbling blocks.

Sometimes when I tell them that I'm planning to go to the pond or out to some other dangerous place, they stop me. They don't let me get into trouble, because they are my friends. They wouldn't let me stray from the path I am supposed to safely walk on. But sometimes, unfortunately, they would decide to go with me to dangerous areas, follow me, or even worse, ask me to go with them, and often, I'm foolish enough to follow.

Quo vadis? Whither goest thou? It is a question I ask myself many times when making decisions. It is a lot easier to remember to ask it and honestly answer when I am alone. I have to remember, however, that even when I am with someone else I am responsible for my own choices, for my own life. I can choose to follow or I can choose to stick to my itinerary. I draw the map of my life, I do the road plan, I pick the paths. And that is a hard job. Sometimes a road seems easy and paved, comfortable and wide, but I have to ask myself where I am heading and if the road will take me there.

Quo vadis? Whither goest thou? Moving to Utah when I was 18 I learnt early on that if I wanted to go to the Canyons to run and enjoy nature I couldn't take I-15, the nice, wide and paved road, because it wasn't taking me to the canyons. If I wanted to go to Provo I-15 was a good choice. If I wante dto go to the Canyons, it wasn't. Everything depended on where I wante dto be and what choices I made.

Choices and decisions are hard things to make. As I grow older I find it they are becoming harder. There is less and less guidance from loving parents and teachers and more and more responsibility. Nowadays I find that I am no longer just responsible for myself, but I often have to help my children make their own decisions. One of the things that influences them the most is them seeing my choices. They follow my example for now, so I have to be extra careful about where I go.

So every day I ask myself, "Quo vadis, Derek?" And I can only hope that the answer is home.

Jamie's Kitchen and other musings on cooking

2005-08-05T15:42:00.000+02:00

When I say the name Jamie Oliver, Brits and many other Europeans--and those Americans, who have the Food Network--will think of a young chef with light hair, big lips and excessive use of interdental consonants. He has been on TV for several years now, being one of Europe's celebrity chefs. I remember watching some of his shows and I have to admit that I have used more than one of of Jamie's tricks and ideas in my own kitchen adventures. And so I was happy.

A few weeks ago I discovered a new side of Jamie Oliver. It had to do with the Hungarian Ministry of ~~Magic~~ Education put together a list of items that should be/will be banned from school snack shops (though not from school lunches... hm...) Some of it included (alongside the evil chocolatebars, hard candy and chips/crisps) every Hungarian's beloved TÃºrÃ³ Rudi, fruit yoghurts, most nuts and cereal bars. In a parents' forum online someone linked to Jamie Oliver's site and his Feed Me Better campaign. Jamie made headlines with wanting to reform school meals--getting rid of the processed junk and replacing it with healthy and tasty school dinners. He actually got a promise from the British Government for cash injection for school meals.

Jamie actually has a DVD called Jamie's School Dinners, in which viewers can follow Jamie as he takes over a place that produces something like 20K school dinners a day. I saw one of the four episodes, so I would love to have that DVD!

Another show with Jamie Oliver that I grew to enjoy (though I tend to miss at least half of every episode, is Jamie's Kitchen. It is more of a documentary than a cooking show, touching the category of reality shows, in which Jamie takes in 15 unemployed young people to teach them to become chefs and work with him at the restaurant he was about to open. I don't know why I was so captivated by this, but I just fell in love with the show. Maybe because secretly I always wanted to be a chef. Yep. I always loved the kitchen, always loved good food, new things and just being able to create something that people will like. I never dared to tell my parents about it, they would have flipped. They thought that working in a bookstore was below their status, so they denied that I was actually working there when they were asked by a friend of theirs who had run into me at the store. So me cooking as a profession was something that could have never happened.

Yet when I moved here I had a small side business that I quite enjoy doing when it comes up. It is catering. It is pretty easy to do for me, to plan and organize events like that and I quite like doing it. It is not so much me working in the kitchen and doing everything that I can do the best, but getting everything rolling and still doing some of the cooking things myself is my favourite thing.

When I'm home I bake an insane amount of cookies. Craig takes them to school, or the twins take them to the nursery. We take them to Church and to community events. And my neighbours buy them off me by the dozen. It is a very exciting things, when the wealthy neighbours who could buy the expensive (and very yummy) cookies that are sold at the grocery store come to me and offer to pay more per piece than the professionally done and marketed cookies. Not that I actually charge that much, but I love the little extra I can save for fun, or for school supplies or even some seafood!

With all the cooking shows on television these days, I have met some different kind of people who cook and can share tricks and tips. There is Jamie Oliver, and Keith Floyd and the two fat ladies, the former news anchor, the chef and the actor together. What I don't really like in these shows that they always rely on the most well-equipped kitchens and many times on pre-prepaired veggies and stuff. That alone often makes me frustrated, because when they say the preparation time is 20 minutes it takes me around two hours just to chop some veggies! Even with using the very limited modified equipment everything takes a lot longer for me and it often becomes really frustrating. I think I made my point about how frustrating it all can be!

I'd love to see Jamie Oliver have a cooking show when he cooks with some people with disabilities. There would be a lot of people interested in that, too. I mean using a kitchen can be a challenge to someone who has control of his arms and hands but uses a wheelchair. Not to mention someone, who has limited use of their arms/hands! Or an upper limbs amputee... or a blind person. I think I could learn a lot more from them now than from any celebrity chef. I can read and usually recipes are quite easy to follow, but I have no idea how to chop tomatoes. Well, I know. I ask Kevin to do it, but that is not always an option.

One of the things I have learnt about cooking is that the key is not giving up. Yesterday I finally gathered my courage to go to the kitchenette at the end of the corridor and to my surprise I found a grill oven and some burners that are quite low, so I can use them as well. Since Kevin was coming to bring me some clean clothes and a book or two I made a very yummomelette for him. The onions weren't finely chopped, the bacon wasn't thin enough, the mushrooms were rather oddly shaped, but it still tasted great and Kevin ate it all.

And I didn't need Jamie Oliver for it.

On Shirts & Skin

2005-08-04T19:50:00.000+02:00

I was just looking at some of the photos of an LJ friend. They were of her daughter from two years ago. There was something about those pictures and some others that suddenly reminded me of Tim Miller.

I got Tim Miller's Shirts & Skin from a friend a few years ago. I read that book and I suddenly became painfully aware of what kind of a gay man I never wanted to become. I felt that Miller was more of the bitter-activist style. I could never see myself as an activist, or in the bitter-oppressed minority role. With all his Pride and anger Miller still locked himself into a box, I felt.

The wonderful artist that he is, however, still captivated me pretty much. He seemed to know what he was doing and why and he was not ashamed of using his body as a piece of art and as a tool of art simultaneously. I am very intrigued about what he does, and I just recently had the chance to see a video recording of one of his performances. I think I am in love with his work while I would never be able to friends with the man that I got to know though Shirts & Skin.

I also had a chance to read Body Blows by him, but it was not nearly as influential for me as Shirts & Skin. I should dig it out from my boxes and take it along to camp to read it.

Morbid thoughts on death and some Catholicism teasing with a generous side of Pope bashing

2005-08-03T20:36:00.000+02:00

Last night I was having a conversation with that started with me saying that I wanted the picture posted in the previous entry to be used in my death announcement when I die. And from that on it went on a downward spiral as far as sanity and reality are concerned but became über fun as we ended up talking about my canonization. More on that later.

When I mentioned that I indeed wanted that picture on the death annoucement we started to talk about the legalities (like who will have guardianship of the twins, a will and what I want as far as funeral goes) and I told her that most likely I'd like to be cremated along with a notebook and pencil so I can take notes and kept on thebookshelf next to the marzipan frog. But I also shared one of my secret ambitions: I'd like to become a skeleton in a high school biology lab.

You see, I always wanted to be an organ donor, but I can't become one because of the cancer thing and because of the gay thing. So the second best thing for making sure my body wasn't exactly going to waste once I leave it would have been the skeleton thing. But with my right leg partially missing, I think only a very low-budget high school would buy my skeleton, as I am sure it would be discounted. It would be such a cute skeleton as well.

(Yes, I expect that you will never look at a skeleton the same way after this!)

I, for a while, also considered being turned into buillon cubes, but then I heard that the last cannibal on Fiji had died. Does anyone know of any other cannibal tribes anywhere? One that eats soup?

In case I ever start performing miracles and the Catholic Church decides to canonize me, I want to be the patron siants of gay writers. (And that is not only because I love Wilde, Verlaine and Rimbaud.) St. Derek. Well, that looks kinda funny, but then again, I am not sure I really want to be a saint. Saints were mostly ascethic, boring and skinny. Except St. Francis of Assissi, who was somewhat nuts. Today he'd surely be a PETA member. Not that St. Francis is not my favourite saint like... Ever. OK, maybe St. Cecilia is my real favourite, but it will be a tie.

Maybe I should start preaching to Nolan? I could teach him the first discussion (anyone LDS or ex-mo here?). That would kinda be preaching to the beasts?

Just please no one tell Ratface that I am a) gay, b) not quite pious and c) I like Harry Potter!

Wow. I am now a published author

2005-07-19T21:11:00.000+02:00

While I am very much interested in HIV/AIDS prevention, treatment and awarness, one of my other major interests is disability awarness and making the world recognise that people with disabilities are capable of leading normal lives--with or without help--and they have very normal dreams and desires. They are normal people, just a little different from the majority. It reminds me of one of the campaigns in Hungarian media, particularly a poster. Two swimmers are pictured at the swimming pool, smiling. One of them has Down Syndrome. The caption reads: There is a big difference between them: one is a girl, the other is a boy."

The last year and a half Mary King and I spent writing a book about normal people with disabilities. This book is finally available from the publisher website.

Click here for order info, details and a free preview!

The Small Pox debate is going on. Still.

2005-05-20T09:09:00.000+02:00

Small pox is one of the deadliest diseases ever to hit humanity. With about a quarter of those infected dying of the disease, and many of the survivours being blinded by the disease, it was not a surprise that there was an international campaign to to erase small pox. The vaccination became widely available and smallpox was gone by 1977. The last death caused by the disease was the result of a laboratory accident.

Samples of the virus are still available in labs and the question is: what should we do with them? The logical thought would be to destroy them, but can we be sure everyone will do that and in the future the virus won't be used as a biological weapon and the world would be without vaccines? Or should they be studied and manipulated so we can find better ways to be protected against viral diseases? Would that lead to developing even more lethal viruses?

And with that thought, I have to mention my Biology teacher's theory about HIV having evolved from the threatened small pox virus... Only to honour Mr. Fairchild!

And it came to pass... That the Érettségi was screwed over. Twice.

2005-05-18T18:22:00.000+02:00

That I deleted my old Blogger blog and started anew, bringing you news from Hungary as well as commentary on important events. Now the first few entries are crossposted from my other journals.

Hungary is catching up to the rest ofthe world in stupidity.The érettségi (kinda like A levels, Leaving Certificate, Abitur or the Baccalaureate) is going on right now. This is the exam that 12th graders in academic high schools take to leave school and makes them eligible to apply to university. Friday the bilingual schools started with the second language exams, Monday was Hungarian, today mathematics and tomorrow is all for History.I have to ad dthat this is the first year of the new system of ther érettségi, so it is new, scary and much debated. The government is part sceptical, so the Minister of education really wants to prove he is a good Minister of Education.Then the questions for the exams appear online a day before the exams. Hungary really is catching up.