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!

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...

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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".

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.  

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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?