Butter

Butter by Asako Yuzuki
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Sorry, I cheated, so far I read only 3 pages of this book but I think I got already important points to report.
Firstly - translation - the narrative is very rough so, not being able to read original, I blame the translator.
Secondly - one of protagonists - Rika - is going to buy butter for her friend Reiko. She visits 3 shops, there are announcements that due to product shortages supplies are limited to one item per customer.
So, I assume she could have bought easily 3 packs of butter but somehow she brought margarine to her friend.
Exciting!
To be continued...
===

I forced myself to endure (skip over) some 20 pages and reaad about a visit in the Detention Centre and the real taste of butter.
This was quite convincing...
I do not remember specifically eating boiled rice with fresh butter but I remember a sensation of butter melting in my mouth in the hot company of bread or potato...
And then...
I tried to read few pages more but gave up on page 77.

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Pensioner's Diet

 Bernie woke up.
He heard the soft, regular sound of the bell. The date flashed on the screen: March 17th, 7:00 AM.
He jumped out of bed, feeling a slight knot in his stomach – his last day of work. Meanwhile, the gym logo wavered encouragingly on the screen. A box in the lower left corner contained the summary:

Bernard M. Scott – age 59, male.
Height 178 cm, weight 73 kg.
Burn 600 calories.

Bernie grabbed a towel and ran downstairs. When he returned after 45 minutes of swimming and working out at the gym, he felt very hungry. He glanced at the screen with some apprehension.

Morning portion: 450 calories – the screen announced.
- Not bad, - muttered Bernie, holding the cup under the spout. The cup filled with a yellowish mush.
It wasn't bad - he confirmed,rinsing the cup with water and drinking the last of the nutrient.

- What could that be? – he wondered – 524 or 628?

ANP – Automatic Nutrition Program was the project Bernie was most proud of.
He had spent the last five years programming and testing this colossal undertaking, which revolutionised human nutrition.
ANP monitored each subscriber's energy, mineral, and vitamin needs and delivered the correct mixture to the customer's kitchen tap.

After several months of laborious development, the project turned out to be a resounding success. This was undoubtedly due to the government's support, which implemented the system in the military and government institutions.
Soon, large corporations followed suit, and now virtually all people employed in larger institutions and living in retirement homes were connected to the system.

It was already 8:28 AM when Bernie finally connected to his official portal. A list of daily tasks appeared on the screen:

12:30 PM Finish work on task 132
2:30 PM Prepare final report
3:00 PM Bernie Scott's farewell ceremony (afternoon tea)
3:30 PM End of work.

They remember everything. - Bernie sighed with relief.

He looked at the list again. And what a generosity, almost a quarter of a day off. Well, I guess  a man deserves some consideration after 35 years of work.

He read the text of task 132 carefully and immersed himself in testing some intricate function. The work went smoothly; he felt a pleasant, warm wave of effort and satisfaction flowing through his brain. Bernie liked this job and thought with some trepidation about his impending retirement.

- Other people get used to it, so I’ll get used to it too - he reassured himself.
Bernie remembered Frank.
That guy spent all his time after work in his well-kept garden. And since he retired two months ago, he’s been carousing all over the world. The last postcard Bernie received from Frank was from Peru.
- Two months ago, Frank wouldn't have been able to find Peru on a map - chuckled Bernie. - People really do change their lifestyles when they retire.

It was a fact that the government strongly encouraged people to maintain an active lifestyle after retirement. Those who transferred all their savings to the government pension fund, received a bonus of a three-month foreign vacation fully funded by the government.

- How does one feel when they don't use the Automatic Nutrition Program? - Bernie wondered. It must be very unhealthy and stomach-wrenching, eating in hotels and restaurants.

It was only 11:25 when Bernie finished his tasks for the day. He looked around in surprise. - So I'm already retired.

He began to browse folders and throw away some files. He paused at one of his ANP programs, which was activating a module that optimised the mixture for the next meal. He quickly entered his personal information, today's date, set the time to 8:00 a.m., and launched the program.
- Number 628 - it appeared on the screen.
- So I guessed correctly what was for breakfast—what will they give me for dinner? - He reset the time to 6:30 PM and pressed a button.

- Number 1371.
- 1371? - Bernie wondered - What could that be?

But there was no time for further thought, as the lunch announcement appeared on the screen.
- Lunch - 300 calories (reduced for afternoon snack).
- The bastards thought of everything - Bernie muttered, filling his mug with the thin mixture. He didn't even bother to guess what it might be.

He returned to work and was just finishing his final report when the terminal prompted him to switch to conference mode.
The screen was now divided into three sections.
Ken McCormick's ruddy face smiled at Bernie from the left, the center of the screen was blank and the right side was filled with a list of  names of those present at the ceremony.

- Dear colleagues, - Ken began, and the center of the screen slowly began to fill with the text of his speech. Bernie placed the cursor on Greg's name and clicked the mouse button.

- How are you, Bernie? - Greg asked.
- What a bore.
- Don't be cynical, Bernie, we all value your work.
- Turning... -  Bernie stopped mid-sentence, because Ken had just finished and was looking at him from the screen with an expectant expression.

Bernie hurriedly scrolled through the list of files and pressed a key. He listened in disbelief for a moment, not recognising his own voice, then relaxed as he recognised the lines of his farewell speech.

- Congratulations! Well done! Take care, Bernie! -  Wishes floated across the screen, each in its own cloud-shaped balloon. A long list of signatures scrolled along the right margin.

Bernie requested a printout. At that moment, Neil's smiling face appeared on the screen.
- Hey Bernie, what are you going to do next?
- I don't really know yet, but I'm going to take a long break first.
- Another traveler, eh? Do you remember Patrick? I just got a postcard from him from Spain.
- By the way, Neil - interrupted Bernie - do you know what a 1371 mix is?
- I have no idea, but all those numbers above a thousand are a special government program. Why do you ask?
- Nothing, I was just checking what's for dinner tonight.
- Right, Bernie, you're retired, on a government allowance. Let me tell you something, this allowance is very economical. Very much so."

- Break over -  the screen flashed. Bernie returned to work mode and soon ended the session.
- I'm free -  he said, looking around.
The suitcase was already packed and everything was ready for the trip. There was nothing left to do.
He switched the terminal to leisure mode. Sports, some quizzes, a children's program. Perfect for children and pensioners, he thought, stretching out on the couch.

When he woke up, the room was already dark.
- So I took a nap. - he muttered in surprise.

- I'm a pensioner," he declared. Oh, I was going to ask Neil about that government allowance - Bernie remembered, and typed Neil's name on the keyboard.
- Terminal busy, leave a message - the computer replied.

Bernie canceled the call and glanced at his watch. It was after seven, and he was feeling hungry.
- I must have slept through the lunch announcement. - he thought. Well, let's try this government mess. - - Number 1371, get out! - Bernie commanded, entering a meal order into the terminal.

- Bernard M. Scott – age 60, male
- Height 178 cm, weight 73 kg.

Bernie waited a moment for the meal's energy value to display, but nothing else appeared on the screen. He held the cup under the faucet and watched as the brownish substance filled the vessel.
- It smells good, - he noted,  - and it tastes not bad, - he added after the first gulp.

He took a long sip and sat down on the couch.
- It's not bad, - he repeated.
And then he felt a hot wave gather in his stomach, grow, rise to his throat, to his brain…
- Number 1371, - Bernie whispered with effort and collapsed onto the couch. His glassy eyes stared blankly at the screen, which displayed the instructions:

ANP – summary: effectiveness  =100%

Tasks:
– remove body
– disinfect room
– transfer all personal items to storage
– send postcards from Route 17 to mailing list 378.

The End

P.S. Above story was published in a Computeing magazine in October 1988 and was a monthly winner of a competition for a story involving some computer technology.
At the end of the year a yearly winner was announced.
It was a story about using computers in the court. To test the system, police fabricated some bank fraud. Then all the evidence was fed into a computer and it was supposed to make the judgement.

In the next number of Computing I read that they invited the winner to the office to hand over to him the prize... but he could not come, he was in the prison serving a sentence for a... bank fraud.

Star Show

Last Thursday we followed our granddaughter's suggestion and visited a nearby theatre to watch The Guardian of the Star - a production of The Melbourne GangShow - CLICK.

The theatre - The Besen Centre - CLICK - promised the best quality, artists delivered :)

Artists...
After entering the theatre foyer we realised that we are in the midst of Australian Scouts. Most of people around, young and old, were wearing either a scout scarf or some other scout insignia.

Before the show... I had to admit that I was bit worried... Melbourne Gang - I felt a promise of a very loud, aggressive music, sloppy behaviour, maybe some vulgarity, although presence of Scouts neutralised the last objection.

Title - The Guardian of the Star - promised some obscure legend.

The show started and our hearts and objections melted.
Pleasant music, great singing - both - choral and solo and wonderful choreography. Quite frequently we watch ballet performances and here, there was no dance but perfect coordination of many people on the stage.
In the background - impressive decorations.

Our rating 10 out of 10!

We just wondered that this performance was not advertised outside the close knit Scouts Community - great loss for many Melbournians.

Now we will keep our eyes and ears wide open.

The final scene of the performance - HERE - warning - sometimes preceded by a short ad.

Anniversary

 Me and my wife reached a milestone - 60 years of marriage.
Somebody advised me to contact my local Member of Parliament as they can organise greetings from Australian officials.
I contacted the office of our local M.P. - Carina Garland - Labor.
They confirmed - yes, we can do it. Actually, for 60th anniversary you will receive greetings from the King.

The date came, we received.... nothing.
I queried the office... they replied that it looks I do not understand the process...
Well,  I understand that if someone declares something to be delivered on 10th of June then it should be delivered on 10th of June - period.

So I turned to AI for help.
I asked ChatGPT to write a sonnet on 60th anniversary of marriage of Australian subjects with Polish roots and here we are:

A Royal Sonnet on a Diamond Anniversary

From throne to distant shore I send my grace,
To hearts entwined through sixty steadfast years—
A union firm, time could not displace,
Nor dim with toil, nor wet with sorrow's tears.
In golden sun beneath the southern skies,
Your love took root on Austral soil anew,
Yet Polish echoes in your voices rise,
A harmony of lands and hearts held true.

O faithful pair, your story speaks to all—
Of journeys made, of cultures woven tight,
Of vows sustained through every rise and fall,
A beacon burning ever bold and bright.
As King, I raise my glass and humbly say:
God bless your love this diamond wedding day.

And what about Wurundjeri People, the original owners of this land?

A Wurundjeri Blessing: A Sonnet for Sixty Years

Upon this land where Bunjil spreads his wings,
We see your path beneath the eucalypt—
Two souls who came with hopes and humble things,
And with your love, this ancient soil equipped.
You brought from Poland dreams the winds had stirred,
And wove them through the gum and wattle gold;
Your laughter joined the magpie’s morning word,
Your story in our story now is told.

For sixty years, your bond has stood like stone,
As rivers carve the earth but do not break;
Together, through each joy and trial grown—
A tree whose roots no storm could ever shake.

Thank You!

P.S. Week after the Anniversary a postman brought a big load of greetings including this one...

Cold enough for Snow - AgaIn

 I could not finish reading this book, actually I put it away very quickly.

I asked ChatGPT how this book could/should be received by an old male reader with European background - the answer below.
Note: I italicised fragments with which I do not agree.

There are books that speak to us in loud, unmistakable voices—books that assert, explain, declare. Then there are books like Cold Enough for Snow, whose voice is quiet, almost ghostly, but persistent. Jessica Au’s novella is a soft, snow-covered path winding through memory, culture, and the quiet, often unreconciled spaces between generations. For a man of European descent who has lived long enough to see the world change several times over, the book felt like a whisper across the years, both foreign and achingly familiar.

The story follows a young woman traveling in Japan with her mother. That is the plot, in the loosest sense. But what Au offers is less a narrative and more a meditation—on identity, language, family, and the way time softens and distorts everything we try to hold onto. It reminded me of the works of W.G. Sebald or even the mood of late autumn European poetry: sparse, elegiac, composed.

Though I grew up in post-war Europe and Au’s narrator is of Asian descent, our concerns overlap in unexpected ways. The disconnection between parent and child—something sharpened by migration, generational distance, and unspoken emotion—feels deeply familiar. In my own family, I recall similar silences, the heavy pauses that carry far more than any sentence. It struck me that while the specifics differ—different countries, different wars, different migrations—the emotional terrain is nearly identical.

The prose is spare but precise. I admired that. Too many modern books seem to chase attention with fireworks. This one sits beside you and waits. There’s a passage where the narrator wonders whether we ever truly understand another person, even our own mother.
That line stayed with me. At 78, I’ve buried both of my parents and still find myself wondering what parts of their interior lives I never glimpsed, what histories they carried quietly to their graves.

I will admit, this is not a book for everyone. There is no plot to speak of, no dramatic revelation or climax. But there is grace here, and a kind of moral stillness that I found moving. For readers like me—who have lived long enough to know that clarity rarely arrives in a blaze of light, but rather in soft accumulations—Au’s novella feels like a small, solemn gift.

In the end, Cold Enough for Snow reminded me of walking in a strange city on a grey winter morning: slightly lost, full of reflection, and at peace with not having all the answers.

Cold enough for snow

Cold Enough For Snow by Jessica Au
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

After reading few pages I got impression that I was unintentionally listening to a conversation of two unknown women.
Conversation was lacking any spirit.
I skipped pages and tried to find spirit in few other places - did not succeed.
I put the book away.

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The Rich Man's House

The Rich Man's House by Andrew McGahan
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Did I rate it 3 stars (***) -  that means - Liked it?
Unbelievable - I hated it after few pages and then more and more.

Why I hated it?

For total extravagance - the richest man, mountain 3 times higher than the real mountains.

Of course such extremities have consequences - some unimaginable residence, detailed description of issues facing climbers on altitude over 12,000 m, etc, etc.

So why I read it?
Because it was very well written - very good structure - chapters meander between reports from few hundred years ago to more recent times, mixture of historical characters with fiction.
Probably after reading some 65% of the book I got idea what to expect at the end and I was close to the correct answer.
From the other perspective - I was absolutely not interested in the layout of the residence, facilities available etc so I hurriedly scanned many pages.
Also I do not like reading about suffering - again - number of pages skipped.
Final conclusion - Andrew McGahan is a good writer - hopefully his other books are easier to digest.
I will try.

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Notre Dame

 Last week I received a great proposal - our granddaughter Gracie had day free and she wished to spend it with Dziadzia.
Excellent!
Jump on the tram...

And watch where it will bring you....

What is this?
Let's go inside (Immigration Museum).
At the information desk we received a histopad - ryve smart device which allowed us to see what happened in and around Notre Dame Cathedral starting from the beginning in year 1161 to the tragic fire in 2018 and then a restoration which ended few weeks ago.

There were also large pictures on the walls...

---

---

---

We had great one and half hour of exploration.
At the end the Cathedral looked like New...

And in the street, under our feet - this we cannot restore we have to wait for the Nature...

And above our heads.... buildings, some of them already swollen...

Great time :)

Girl, Woman, Other

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The beginning was good.
I enjoyed authors writing style - sentences like machine gun bursts.
After three pages I felt tired with it.
Then - the story - Nigerian women in England.
I felt sorry for them.
I remember 195o-ies - end of colonialism in Africa.
New, independent countries - Ghana, Kenia, Nigeria... the list was impressive, expectations great.
How come that now each of these countries is much worse than it was 65 years ago?
I jumped few dozen pages forward.
Again I was initially charmed with machine gun writing style.
Nigerian women in England.
I could not relate it to any of mine experiences or imaginations... jump forward few hundred pages.
Main character preparing for a premiere of her play in a theatre in London.
Good luck but I am not going.

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Swan Song

Swan Song: The intriguing, suspenseful, gripping, dark, humorous and cosy cozy classic detective fiction novel adored by Golden Age crime and modern mystery fans alike by Edmund Crispin
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I liked the author from the first sentence - "There are a few creatures more stupid than the average singer...".
Arrogant man on the stage... it was some relief after few years of politically correct books.
I liked his narration, presentation of characters, dialogues... and the main topic - music. I just felt well in this atmosphere, the only trouble was... some improbable murder, maybe more than one.
I had trouble to follow the investigations and I was not interested in outcome.

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Convenience Store Woman

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

At the beginning I liked this book for bringing me into a different world.
Apparently it is written from a position of a autistic person who got a rather one-dimensional vision of life.
After few chapters I got enough of it, the author did not show a full picture of main character (Keiko) life so when in the later chapters she "discovers" people around her and learns their opinions, I found it not convincing.
Another point - in my opinion the translation to English is bit rough.
Even the title - Convenience store - such term is not used in plain language, I have no idea what kind of shop it is in Japan. I noticed that in German and Polish translations they just used Japanese term - Konbini.
Another example - Thank you for your custom - this phrase is used by the store personnel, sounds artificial to me.

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Be Be

 My first words this (and previous) morning were - brrrr, brrrr - so cold.
In our 42 years of life in Australia we never before switched on heating in February.

Why Be Be or double B?
Memory from 70 years ago - BB = Brigitte Bardot - CLICK.
I lived in a communist Poland and I am not sure when I saw BB in a movie but she was present in the papers and movie newsreels.
I was also aware of two other BBs - very popular German writer Bertold Brecht and not so popular Hungarian composer Bela Bartok.

Those memories revived at the end of 2023 when I got a message from Melbourne Symphony Orchestra about a concert - pianist Berta Brozgul will perform Bela Bartok's piano concerto No 3.
Unfortunately I could not attend this performance but I remember the name.

And here it came - Brunswick Beethoven Festival - Sofia Kirsanova - violin and Berta Brozgul - piano will play violin sonatas by L. Janacek and L. van Beethoven.

In last 3 months I experienced a serious health deterioration so I could not plan ahead any travel to the city in evening hours. 
On Tuesday (18/2) I had an early dinner and at 6:30 pm decided that I am able to GO!

Concert took place in Brunswick Uniting Church. I arrived over half an hour before the performance, the church was closed, few people sheltered from cold wind in door niches.
- I am from Latvia - one lady introduced herself - because the violinist is Latvian. I introduced myself as Polish and to my surprise I got reinforcement of one lady.
There was one more lady around and she introduced herself as Australian - odd.

Eventually we were allowed to enter the church, there were around 150 people, my guess is there were no more than 5 people under 50 years of age.

The concert began...
I am not qualified to evaluate the performance although I was more moved by L. Janacek Sonata.

As for Kreutzer sonata I have another story...
Famous Russian writer - Leo Tolstoy - wrote a novella - Kreutzer Sonata.
This is a story about a man who killed his wife because he suspected her of marital infidelity with her music teacher and the inspiration to betrayal was - Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata.
There is L. Tolstoy's opinion:
"They say that music stirs the soul. Stupidity! A lie! It acts, it acts frightfully (I speak for myself), but not in an ennobling way. It acts neither in an ennobling nor a debasing way, but in an irritating way. How shall I say it? Music makes me forget my real situation. It transports me into a state which is not my own. Under the influence of music I really seem to feel what I do not feel, to understand what I do not understand, to have powers which I cannot have. Music seems to me to act like yawning or laughter; I have no desire to sleep, but I yawn when I see others yawn; with no reason to laugh, I laugh when I hear others laugh. And music transports me immediately into the condition of soul in which he who wrote the music found himself at that time. I become confounded with his soul, and with him I pass from one condition to another. But why that? I know nothing about it? But he who wrote Beethoven’s ‘Kreutzer Sonata’ knew well why he found himself in a certain condition. That condition led him to certain actions, and for that reason to him had a meaning, but to me none, none whatever.
And that is why music provokes an excitement which it does not bring to a conclusion.
For instance, a military march is played; the soldier passes to the sound of this march, and the music is finished. A dance is played; I have finished dancing, and the music is finished. A mass is sung; I receive the sacrament, and again the music is finished.
But any other music provokes an excitement, and this excitement is not accompanied by the thing that needs properly to be done, and that is why music is so dangerous, and sometimes acts so frightfully."
Copied from Project Guttenberg (guttenberg.com).

I had this words in mind listening to the concert performance probably therefore I found it... short of madness :(
Here is a link to a performance with a bit of madness - CLICK - no wonder - the violinist is Moldavian, the pianist - Turkish. 

One interesting point - here is the text of original dedication: "Sonata mulattica composta per il mulatto Brischdauer [Bridgetower], gran pazzo e compositore mulattico" (Mulatto Sonata composed for the mulatto Brischdauer, great madman mulatto composer).
George Bridgetower - look HERE - musician of Polish descent, born in Biała Podlaska...
Actually Biała means in Polish - White.
Isn't it mad?

 And one more quote from L. Tolstoy novella - something written 135 years ago but still valid: The absence of the rights of woman does not consist in the fact that she has not the right to vote, or the right to sit on the bench, but in the fact that in her affectional relations she is not the equal of man, she has not the right to abstain, to choose instead of being chosen. You say that that would be abnormal. Very well! But then do not let man enjoy these rights, while his companion is deprived of them, and finds herself obliged to make use of the coquetry by which she governs, so that the result is that man chooses ‘formally,’ whereas really it is woman who chooses. As soon as she is in possession of her means, she abuses them, and acquires a terrible supremacy.”
“But where do you see this exceptional power?”
“Where? Why, everywhere, in everything. Go see the stores in the large cities. There are millions there, millions. It is impossible to estimate the enormous quantity of labor that is expended there. In nine-tenths of these stores is there anything whatever for the use of men? All the luxury of life is demanded and sustained by woman. Count the factories; the greater part of them are engaged in making feminine ornaments. Millions of men, generations of slaves, die toiling like convicts simply to satisfy the whims of our companions".

The Power of One

At the beginning of February 1999 I flew from hot summer in Melbourne Australia, to cold and wintry Minneapolis.
My intention was to compete in American Vasaloppet in Mora, Minnesota. 

The winter was poor in snow but I managed to have decent skiing in few parks in Minneapolis.
 On Thursday, 3 days before the race, I heard on the radio, that the race has been cancelled due to the lack of snow. 

It was a shock!
Next morning I rang the race office. They confirmed the bad news - sorry, the race is cancelled.
 - That's impossible! I came here all the way from Australia! It cannot be!
 - We are very sorry, but it is cancelled.
 - But there is quite good snow in parks in Minneapolis... 
-  We also have good snow in the forest. But the race is run in the open area and there is no snow there.
- So shift it to the forest!
 - That's impossible, we have around 4,000 participants, we cannot squeeze them on narrow tracks. Anyway, the decision is FINAL, there is NO RACE!
 I tried the last chance - please connect me with the club secretary.
I had Valerie Brown at the other end of the wire and I laid down my proposal:
I understand that you are unable to run the regular race. But on the other hand there is still quite good snow in the forest. And on another hand, I came here all the long way from Australia.
Why not to put these two hands together and let me do a solo race in the forest?
There was a moment of silence and then ....come to Mora, we'll see what we can do for you. I could hear smile in Valerie's Brown voice.
I came to Mora on Saturday morning.
The big red Dalarna Horse reminded me my race in Sweden 3 years earlier.

I went directly to the race office.
It was the saddest place in the world. Thousands of race bags and bunches of medals for finishers.
I took one of them in my hand.... Valentine Day..
Yes, of course! It will be Valentine Day tomorrow! A heart, two skiers inside, Love to ski .

- What are you going to do with them?
- They all will be scrapped.
- O, no! You must let me to race for this medal!

 We studied maps of ski trails in the forest. Valerie showed me ones where the snow should be OK.
I did simple arithmetic...
- Valerie, so if I will ski around these loops until I clock over 58 km, will you give me such a medal?
- Find his racing bag - she said.

9 o'clock Sunday morning, blue skies, light frost, no wind.
In the Log Cabin I left a bag with warm clothes and some food and drinks.
I put on my red racing suit with kangaroos on the back and on the leg. I put on my race number 503...

 START!!! 

For a long time I was the only person on the trails.
Later some people arrived, whole families for a relaxing session of skiing in the sun.
Some of them were quite shocked when out of sudden a crazy racer appeared...
 - Go away from the track - shouted parents to the children - thousand skiers will be here in a moment!
 - But they said , that the race is cancelled.
I left them in such puzzled state and skied on and on...
 5 times around The Point Trail, 4 times Beaver Dam Trail and every possible trail between and around. Eventually my log showed more than 60 km, it was almost 3 pm.
I skied back to the Log Cabin where some local ski club members waited for me with the medal of my dreams. 

Back from home, I wrote a detailed report of my effort, it showed almost 65km.
What a surprise it was when few weeks later I received mail from Valerie Brown.
She sent me a special diploma...

... and another medal.

Valerie explained that some of Love to Ski medals have been given to senior club members and race sponsors so she saved for me something special...

... and there is only ONE such medal in the world!

We'll prescribe you a Cat

We'll Prescribe You a Cat by Syou Ishida
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I liked very much the first three stories and then I started loosing contact with the book.
Probably it is my background - simple, sometimes hard but always enjoyable life.
Somehow I could understand the main characters of the stories, I could place myself in their company.
Two last stories - change of characters, change of environment, introduction of mystery - not my climate.
Sorry.

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Lech Lecha

My name is Lech.
The Poles nod in understanding - we know the beginning of the Polish state...

A long time ago, in a certain Slavic settlement, there lived three brothers, Lech, Czech and Rus. They lived under a great holy oak, from which a holy spring gushed, from which a holy horse drank. The brothers lived in harmony with each other and with nature, in everything listening to the old and wise priest, who knew everything about nature, people, life and the world. He healed, advised and interpreted dreams, both young and old. The brothers once dreamed of horses, and the priest told them that these dreams would soon come true. When they were young men, their father gave them three foals, which they were to take care of so that they would serve them. The priest of the settlement gave them another, white horse. He ordered them to set off on a journey and follow this particular horse until they reached the great northern temple.

Source HERE.

Still it is not a popular name in Poland, personally I never met another Lech. Significant point might be that there was no Catholic Saint of this name, my parents had to give me a second, "proper" name for Baptism.

In my case, the case has been going on for 2 generations. End of XIX century, my grandparents lived in Mazovia, in the Russian partition of Poland, it was a period of tightening restrictions, and there was also information about discrimination against people of Polish origin in the German partition. My grandmother as some form of protest, decided to give her children old Slavic names - Ludmiła (1892), Lech (1897), Ziemowit (1902).
I was born in 1941, under German occupation, my Mother recalled that by giving me this name my Parents gave themselves courage.

So I am Lech ... Lecha...

Lech Lecha...

80 years passed and then, 2 years ago,  I experienced a shock.

In mid-2023, I became subscriber of The Jewish Independent Media. I found it quiet interesting and balanced in its opinions.
At the end of October 2023, I read a message in the newsletter that shocked me - this week is Parashat Lech Lecha...

What is this???
Here you are...

Please click on the above photo...
So - Lech Lecha - simply means - go forth to the land that I have destined for you.

Wait a minute... and what did the priest order the legendary brothers - to set off on their journey... to the north.

It obviously reminded me of the name given to Poland by some countries:
- Iran - لهستان - Lahastan.
- Turkye used similar name for many years but then changed to Polonya.

And one more thing - the word Lech - it definitely does not sound Slavic to me - Listek, Leszek, Zlechic, Szlachcic are different, but Lech - long L and guttural CH/H - I got used to this during my two-year stay in Middle East.

On this basis, I have developed my own fantasy...
The beginning of the 7th century, the lands that once belonged to the Canaanites, Philistines, Israelites are taken over by Muslims. Mass emigration of Jews begins - to Spain, Syria, Turkey, Greece.

The Khazar tribe is formed in Turkey - CLICK - and there is a mention of  conversion to Judaism

It seems logical to me that in this situation the Khazars recited the Torah and the words they heard from God - Lech Lecha.

And the other side of the coin - these very words signalled the approach of the Khazars to the Slavs, it seems natural that they thought that the newcomers were introducing themselves by giving their name - Lech.

I wonder how I - Lech - should respond to this brotherly call.

So far I fill the waiting time with numerous Lech Lecha entertainments:

Bingo!

Song..

Play - HERE .

Crossword...

Most tasty I left to the end...

Note: this year Parshat Lech Lecha comes on 1st of November.

P.S. The YouTube channel offers dozens of videos on this topic - some very interesting - CLICK.

Silly

 Another day starting with Wordle...

Statistics justify this opinion...

I played this game 702 times - failed 31 times, succeeded 671 times and look what a beautiful distribution od results :)

Emotional Female

Emotional Female by Yumiko Kadota
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I had trouble to get an idea - what sort of book it is?
There were dozens of incidents described in details, they were about the same person, but somehow they did not made a story.
What was missing?
I think the title spells it out.

I could not finish this book.  

View all my reviews

XPray

 I thought I could tick off this year's Christmas, but last Sunday a new element was added.

The weather was beautiful, clear skies, sun but only to keep the mood up, temperature 24C.
No wonder I went for a walk shortly after returning from Sunday mass.
The shortest of my home-based walking routes, a little over half an hour's walk.

I have walked this route many times and my attention was drawn several times to the singing coming from one of the apartments.
Few weeks ago  I heard a very loud, beautiful singing. A female voice, maybe even two. It sounded somehow natural, not like from the radio or TV. There was no one in front of the door at that time.
Usually an elderly man often sat on a chair in front of the door, sometimes a younger woman brought him something to drink. I came to the conclusion that it was probably the daughter living with her father who needed care.
As is the case here in the neighborhood, we always waved our hands at each other in a friendly manner.

Last Sunday both tenants were at the door, we waved to each other and I deliberately slowed down to have a chance to ask about the songs.
It worked, the lady approached me, I noticed that she was quite handsome, I asked about the songs.
- Oh yes, we must have been singing psalms.
In turn, she asked about my health and of course I mentioned the hospital visit.

She thought for a moment... and can I pray for you?
It somehow suited both the weather and the Sunday mood, I agreed with a smile.
The lady put her hand on my shoulder, opened her eyes wider and so wide and began...
"God, who brought this man into this world, who cared for his existence in the mother's womb, who... ... do not let him lose his strength and health just now..."

I closed my eyes - an extremely strong, clear voice. In addition, a beautiful English accent, and strong words spoken in a very commanding way.
This must be heard by SOMEONE - I thought.

I noticed the hand resting on my shoulder.
I felt that it was a friendly hand, but I did not feel the flow of energy.
I will mention here that in our church there is one parishioner who sometimes touches me on the back in a friendly way and I feel the warmth flowing from his hand to me.
Our youngest granddaughter can do this too.

The lady finished her prayer, took her hand off my shoulder, I noticed that I had big tears in my eyes. I thanked her and went home breathing deeply.

And in the evening a guest came to us for dinner - our parish priest.
Very nice, we talked in a friendly way, he reminded us that the parish can help us in many practical situations.

And so the visit ended and I had a question:
- why didn't the priest offer me a blessing?

This is a very common behavior when meeting a sick person.
The priest knows that my attitude to faith is very skeptical, he knows that I do not receive communion, but this situation was specific.

So -  maybe the priest felt that someone had already prayed for me that day?

And was this lady praying to the same God?