Alin

img_4622.jpgCel mai mare frate din noua si al doilea dintre noi, Alin are o prezenta naturala de sef:)  Este definit mai bine de iubirea lui fata de musica classica, in deosebi Beethoven, si cind nu lucreaza ca inginer in Germania unde sa stabilit momentan, este gasit pe scenele operei in multe tari dar in deosebi pe scenele nemtesti.

Amu, hai sa intram mai pe di ale noastri. Haline!!!!! Fratele meu!!!!! De ce esti asa diparti???? Imi aduc aminte cu mare drag de momentele petrecute cu ai mei frati si surori. Datorita anilor apropiati, am avut o legatura mai strinsa cu Alin si Sergiu, si mai tirziu am format prietenii mai strinse cu restul fratilor. Alin, o fire gingasa dar si un ghem de mister (ceea ce lui ii place:) a crescut tinind in el multa durere, in deosebi dupa ce a murit fratele nostru, Fanu. Alin si Fanu au avut o conectie speciala, bazata pe faptul ca semanau mult la chip si fire. Copil slabut si inalt ani de zile, Alin putea minca sarmale cu tonele, mai ales la nunti, dar mincarea lui preferata era si mai este piine cu un rind gros, si cind zic gros nu exagerez, de unt si miere. Acasa, eu gateam dar Alin cocea:) Ciocolata de casa i-a fost desertul preferat ani de zile, dar in general nu conteaza ce desert ieste in jur, Alin il va minca fara nici o plingere:)

E iubit de multi, desi am impresia ca se simte singur de multe ori.

Imi aduc aminte cind eram tineri, si el era asa de subtirel (ca restul de fapt), si cind Alin iti tragea o palma din joaca iti intorcea mufa si-ti schimba anatomia sheletului, asa ii era de grea palma. Un intelectual din nastere, zimbesc mereu cind vorbim la telefon, si nimeni nu ma face sa rid cum ma face Alin sa rid. (Sergiu la fel, dar in ultimul timp e obosit mai tot timpul.)

Intr-o vara cind am mers la bunica (de fapt strabunica) de la Ibanesti, ea ne-a lasat in grija gainilor. Bunica plecata de ceva timp in padure la cules de ciuperci si vreascuri, dar in realitate cred ca avea nevoie de citeva ore de liniste, si fara nimic de facut ne-am plictisit. Pe timpuri eram plina de energie si curiozitate, si tot timpul aveam idei de aventuri, stresindu-l pe saracul Alin care nu avea nici o pofta sa fie pedepsit.

“Hai sa mergem in papusoi (porum pentru cei care nu vorbesc moldoveneste:), Aline!”

“De ce?”

“Sa exploram! Haideeee, hai mai repede.” Am plecat fara sa ne dam seama ca nu am inchis poarta dupa noi, si in mijlocul explorarii noastre ne-am trezit cu niste gaini pe la picioare.”

“Hm, astea parca arata ca gainile lui bunica.” Amindoi am inghitit in sec si am inghetat pe loc.

“Ai inchis poarta dupa tine?”

“Nu. Nu mi-ai zis sa inchid poarta!” Sa rastit Alin inapoi continuind “Vezi daca ascult de tine! O sa ne omoare bunica acuma!” Pe moment am facut planuri sa fugim dar am stiut ca era plan prost.

“Ce facem acuma?”

“Tarnicerul! Ne ajuta el! Haide” Am raspuns fungind repede inapoi cu speranta ca vecinul bunicii care era stiut ca betivul satului era acasa si numai jumate beat. L-am gasit acasa. Desi beat ne-a dat instructiuni si ne-a ajutat sa fugarim gainile inapoi in ograda (curte:). A luat o ora si ceva, si nu am fost plesnita peste fata de atita papusoi in viata mea. I-am multumit vecinului sperind ca nu ne piraste. Am stat pe prispa dupa aia ca doi ingeri pina a venit bunica inapoi cu o legatura de vreascuri pe umeri si ciuperci in briu.

Am avut multe aventuri cu Alin in viata mea si cred ca vom mai avea, mi-e dor de el zilnic dar is fericita cind il vad fericit:) Stiu ca multi din voi care vor citi aceste rinduri ave-ti memorii frumoase cu el:) Ce sa stiu sa zic, Alin are stilul lui unicat de a comunica, pe care il iubim desi poate la inceput ne-a socat un pic. Aline ramii la fel, ca ne trebuiesti ase cum esti;)

Love you:)

P.S Porecla in trecut- grisina.

It has begun- Alin the Musician-

IMG_4601IMG_4409IMG_4597IMG_4600

First picture- article in Hunedoara newspaper done on Alin:)

Second picture; Alin and his twin nieces, Oana’s girls:)

Alin around seven years old:)

Alin in one of his stage costume:)

Every year around this time I began to mourn for Fanu, my little ten year old brother who died a while back. His B-day is in December, but fall brings a whiff of Fanu’s memory with it and my heart cries from such precious loss. To divert my sorrows, I think of my other siblings.

I’ll start with Alin:)

ALIN-the Opera Singer

Second in command, he’s a boss in his own way:) A self made man and a brilliant engineer, his work in Germany is appreciated by many. But its his stage performances that define him for who he is. His love for music was know since early ages of his life. He performs on stage all over the world:) Beethoven is his favorite composer. Alin is a ball of mysteries and he loves it that way:) A natural born intellectual it’s a pleasure having a conversation with him on many subjects, but its his direct and honest opinions that puts a smile on my face every time we talk. He has a diplomatic way of telling you the truth about yourself, without the presents of butt kissing, living you hardly confused of his opinion. He’s a sensitive soul and the loss of Fanu (Alin and Fanu had a special connection the rest of us knew about), his heart fractured quite deeply. One day all will be healed.

Alin, makes me laugh in a way no other human being on this entire planet can do and I know Meleah has a special compartment in her heart reserved for uncle Alin. It is a common feeling many share about him.

His love of travel is well know as he often takes advantage of a nice vacation to go visit a new place on this beautiful planet.

Alin and I spent a summer in the hills of Moldova, at our great grandma, where out of boredom we got often in trouble. Come to think of it, it was my sense of adventure that got us in trouble often followed by his threats. One day, we forgot to close the gate and all great grandma’s chickens ran into the corn field. Panicked,  we recruited the help of her neighbor and the town’s well known drunk, but we couldn’t afford to be picky. The poor man, did a fantastic job mumbling instructions to us and after a highly stressful hour or so, we managed to bring back all the chickens. After words, as great grandma came back from the forest carrying a bundle of wood sticks for the evening dinner along side an apron full of freshly picked mushrooms (not my favorite) we acted as everything was well with the world. I’m not sure if the neighbor ever ratted us out, but I’ve never heard a reprimand from my grandma.

Yes, we were quite the pair and Sergiu joined our gang soon after.

Back home I was the cook and Alin was the baker. Boy was he a great baker. He could whip a chec (like a sweet loaf of bread) in no time, but “ciocolata de casa” (homemade chocolate), was and still is his favorite desert. He also loved a piece of bread with tons of butter, and when I say tons I mean tons, and honey. He pretty much lived on that.

I miss Alin every day, but I’m really glad he’s doing so well and one day I’ll get to see him again:)

P.S Alin speaks Romanian, English and German, he also speaks Alin language:)

Next is Sergiu:)

Perspective

I grew up poor. It sort of came with the territory of Christian parents, twelve children, small salary that wasn’t going to see any increase in it unless and until my father denied Christ. So far, my story is a very familiar one to Christians individuals that grew up in the socialistic communism of the Eastern European block.

But the poverty I experienced in Romania -you didn’t have to be a Christian to experience poverty, you simply had to be part of those countries to experience the “glories” of socialism- left an unpleasant taste in my mouth and it’s marks all over my body. Unlike other people, I had the blessing to be rescued from that environment:) But looking back, there was a movement, a spiritual movement I bought into for a long period of time, a sort of spiritual pride of our poverty. It was a coping mechanism. Something I only recognized years after leaving Romania. I do not blame the ones left behind that still think that way, it’s their way of coping with a hard situation the best they can. But years have passed, Chet and I worked hard and made certain decisions that proved to be smart financial moves and I no longer feel poor. There will always be others that have more than us, but there are far more people in this word that have less. I am grateful to God for everything we have, every day of my life and I do my best to help out others that still are in the midsts of poverty, usually in impoverished countries. But the funny thing about poverty that I’ve come to understand, it is a mindset. Let me explain my findings.

While in Romania -or Russia, or Bulgaria, or Africa, or India etc- there was a realistic and evident state of material and nourishment lack. Here in America is not so -unless one goes through an unfortunate turn of events in their lives that can leave them at the steps of poverty for a temporary period of time- its more a mindset that some have while spending unwisely or foolishly.

Example: Back in 2014-2015 I lost my job because I became very ill, medical bills piled up, the economy was not yet strong to sell the house and Chet’s company was having financial troubles and unable to pay him for months at the time. It showered on us with one bad news after another.

Example: Some great friends of ours, in their retirement years lost their savings to a crook that lived next door. The stress of such loss gave the husband a heart-attack and he died, leaving a widow and a child behind to fend for themselves.

These are hard situations, that come in our lives uninvited.

I’m getting better and our financial situation is fine, but it took sacrifice and great work. Our friends are recovering as well, but it took great work and sacrifice. These are only two examples in the sea of uninvited hardships coming in the lives of great people.

But there’s the other side.

Example: Couple that spent unwisely, lost their home, eventually their marriage and through it all used many trusting people and friends to keep up a facade that was crumbling anyway. To this day I haven’t seen efforts to put right what they’ve done wrong. Further more they’re the victims in their lives and everyone else who helped them were the abusers- their perspective. I’m sure this sounds very familiar to some of you. Chet and I had our fair share of such people.

Example: I was selling a wedding rental business piece by piece, mostly on Craigslist, after I realized it’s not going to work for us. The prices were fantastic. One buyer in particular, came to pick her items, but needed up lingering for an hour giving a sob story about her sad situation, and how expensive life was. I almost gave in to lower my already low (some items were .50 cents a piece) when I heard her phone ring and she pulled out of her purse the newest and best cell phones on the market. Listening to her conversation I understood that she expected stuff  for free because of a mind set she was raised with. Once she hung up, I tolled her to either buy or leave since I had other engagements. She purchased what she came in for and left, but waisted an hour of my time.

Which brings me to my final thought; perspective. What one thinks about their lives can look dramatically different from the reality of their choices. Of our choices, I’m not excluded from the “life’s mistakes club”.

In truth, here in America at least, we have far more opportunities to leave the poverty state, if we put aside laziness, pride, ego, and whatever else excuse people use to stay poor. I can see some people rolling their eyes and fuming while reading these lines. When I grew up, there were no such things as: food stamps, shelters, programs to help the poor, low-income help, missions to shelter the poor, food banks, planned parenthood (which I do not support), etc. When someone said: I have no money to buy bread, it ment no money, nada. There were no credit cards back then, just a whole lot of poverty to share with each other.

PERSPECTIVE. Here in this country we still have far more than most of the world has. Opportunities as well. There is much to be thankful for. Little to be unhappy about. Keep the right perspective.

God bless:)

Happy 24th Anniversary:)

IMG_4638IMG_4635It takes my mother-in-law, once again, to remind me of my “Coming to America” anniversary on October 15th (yesterday). It’s been 24 years already? Actually, right now I should ask: “I’ve lived in Romania?” It sure feels like a distant dream, the land of my birth, a dream mixed with happiness and sadness:)

To pretend that my new culture (America) doesn’t have its shortcomings would be infantile. However, I remember my very first experience in America, fresh off the airplane, which was a breathtaking experience in itself.

I had to use the restroom quite urgently, since I’ve held it in for a good fifteen hours now. I knew sooner or later I would have to learn the new and improved American system and due to its urgency on the matter, that time seemed to have arrived.

We took a boat to our new place on an island and through gestures – Chet and I could hardly speaking to each other, he barely knew Romanian and I was sure I didn’t know any English- I asked him where was the restroom. With his gentlemanly manners Chet showed me the door where a funny looking woman painting with very sharp edges about her announced my gender. I walked in absolutely flabbergasted by the clean surroundings, the bright lights- no one seemed to steal the public light bulbs in this country- and looked for either a hole in the ground with its own fly occupants or a toilet. I saw a row of sinks on one side and boxes on the other. With hesitation I walked toward the boxes, opened one and to my relief saw a toilet. I rushed in closed it and did my business. Once done I reached up to pull the string -the only system of toilet flushing I’ve known my entire life- shocked to find there was no string.

“Maybe its broken.” I looked up. No hole in the ceiling. “Great, now what?” I looked around for buttons or handles, anything, and became quite panicked. There were none that I could see. I dressed, and was about to make a run for it, when I heard the toilet behind me flush, by itself! “What?” Relieved, even if quite confused, I was ready to wash my hands, but there too I sat in a tremendous dilemma. No matter what I did no water came out. Again no buttons or sink handle were visible. Ladies came in and out, washing their hands just fine except for me. “Maybe my sink is broken.” I snuck to the sinks others just used but as soon as I got there the water flow stopped leaving me in utter confusion. I pulled and pushed on different spots of the sink. Nothing. Eventually, one simply began working and I ran to it washing quickly, glad the whole thing was over. Turning around ready to wipe my hands I got struck by another dilemma. “Shucks! No towels!” Nothing! Just some shiny things- later I found out they were automatic heat blowers- but no towels. I wiped on my clothes and found my way out of there eager to put the whole thing behind me and into a deeply worried new husband. How can I explain to him that American toilets were moody and sinks were playing tricks on me when one could not speak a word of English?  I’ve since learned of the automatic toilet flushing system along with the automatic faucets of the public restrooms, but it took a few more trials and a whole lot of confusion to get the whole new system of things down:)

IMG_4587

A sample of vegetarian Americo-Romanian dinner:) Zacusca (red pepper and eggplant dip) and salata de vinete (an eggplant and mayo dip) meets potatoes in the oven with steamed broccoli (never saw that vegetable in Romania) and snow peas (another vegetable I never saw in Romania) and backed squash:)

When in pain, one writes

Yes, I’m in quite a lot of pain today, but don’t fuss, it will pass and life moves on. I figured since today it will be spent mostly in bed, I may as well write.

Long before I knew what a Solar Plexus was, I felt it. Every time my father yelled, I felt it. Every time my father hit one of us, I felt it. With every cry of pain, I felt it. With every criticism, I felt it.

Solar plexus aka Celiac Plexus aka Abdominal Brain – is a complex of ganglia (or network of nerves) and radiating nerves of the sympathetic system (fight and flight response) at the pit of the stomach.-Wikipedia

Heal this and you’ll heal adrenal problems, stomach problems, gall bladder problems, diaphragm problems, spleen problems and much more. (Chakras.info; solework.wordpress.com)

It took forty-two years for me to understand why every-time I was around other people I “saw” certain things about them – information that came in different forms such as: colors/lights, a string of clear yet seemingly unrelated images about that particular person’s life or that strong sense of danger/unease/happiness/relaxation one gets around certain individuals – affecting me one way or another, depending on what I “saw” or perceived. I also learned something else: Anytime I felt a perceived danger I would hold my breath. I was not aware I did that until one naturopathic doctor pointed it out. It was my way of coping with trauma or stressful circumstances. It began early in my childhood while witnessing a lot of my father’s abuse towards my siblings and my self. I held my breath. This happens when trauma or excessive stress is present in the early stages of childhood. It changes the structure of one’s DNA and neurological responses. Most people call such a result as “highly sensitive people”. Some are just born that way and no trauma was present, others develop this sensitivity forced by traumatic environments. In reality we’re all sensitive to pollutants/toxicity and stress. The difference is that some can shoulder these burdens better that’s others and it’s directly linked to a strong immune system versus not.

“That’s New Age talk, Carmen.” Some would say, after reading these lines. I was raised in a very strict conservative Christian environment (not all aspects of Christianity beliefs are wrong, but anything presented in a strict and extreme way is usually unhealthy) made to belief anything remotely related to New Age is evil. So I kept quiet about the things I “saw”/perceived knowing full well I would be accused of demon possession. I believe a lot of New Age theology comes from Biblical information but the movement added other things to it.

For forty- years, no stranger could get close to me without me feeling uncomfortable. Hugs to this day are hard for me and any conversation is done from a safe distance. If anyone violates that “safe zone” between us my flight or fight response super activates – although I lived only in a fight or flight response for years.  This has been medically proven by the tests I’ve had these past four years. My body could no longer relax. I’ve forgotten how.

Like a can of worms this perception exploded and jumped past few stages of teaching in massage school. I noticed certain things and had to ask my teachers for an explanation. Upon hearing the things I saw, my teachers simply responded with a genuine smile on their faces: “Carmen, you’ve got a gift.” I do? I thought to myself.

Example: I gave a massage to one of my teachers- which was not nerve-racking at all:)))- and I saw a shadow over her right hip and left knee. I knew instantly those areas were hurt. Without thinking I asked:

“What happen to your right hip and left knee?” She popped her head off the pillow in shock, only to realize she never told me anything about her personal life.

“How do you know about that?”

“I can see it.”

“What exactly do you see?”

“Dark gray shadows with a glow of pale yellow over these areas. I also see…” But she interrupted me, maybe because she didn’t want to find out a student can reveal more personal stuff about her.

“I had a bad car accident about ten years ago and those areas never healed properly.”

“Okay.”

Example: Had a lady on the massage table and I saw intense loss and grief all over her body. She was a good person, burdened by the disease of loss and sickness- a sickening yellow/olive color. I gently told her “all will be alright.” As we began talking I found out she lost someone very dear and just overcame cancer. She was also a bit frightened by all the things I could see so I stopped talking. In the end, she tolled me: “You have a gift.” She left and I never saw her again. I believe I may have frightened her for which I’m truly sorry.

The Solar Plexus is a sensitive spot but a powerful center of information. I’m not sure what made me the way that I am, but I was born with this. I’ve seen many things, most of them horribly dark stuff. Trauma, may have triggered something -this is a theory of mine- or I was born with a gift from God. Either way, I still have a lot to learn and I get things wrong as well.

One thing I’ve learned to do, is not let this gifting hinder my personal relationships, especially my relationship with Chet. Trust me, it took many years to learn how to and I’m still not an expert. But if I meet you and you’re going through something, and I will be allowed to see that, instead of allowing my heart to be broken by your hurt days in a row, I’ll be praying for you earnestly than let God and yourself do the healing in your own way and timing. I’ve learned I can’t be God and don’t want to. But I will be your friend.

I’ve tried to give you a small overview of the solar plexus but there’s so much more to it. For those interested, the internet is full of information on the subject. I hope this helped some of you and did not at least was an interesting read.

God Bless:)

 

 

Unchiu Stefan

De cind mi-l aduc aminte pe unchiu Stefan, e un om plin de umor si fara mare stress. Dar a trecut si el prin multe, mai ales in ultimul lui an in Romania, care l-a petrecut in patul spitalului mai mult decit acasa, datorita unui caz de astma severa. Cu ajutorul Crucii Rosii a putut pleca in America, unde sa stabilit in California unde aerul uscat si caldura atit cit si tratamentul l-au ajutat sa traiasca o viata normala. Ca electrician, incetul cu incetul si-a cumparat o casa, pregatind terenul pentru sotia lui Olga si cei cinci copii, care cu mare durere a trebuit sa-I lase in Romania. A luat, nu-mi aduc aminte precis, in jur de noua ani pina a putut sa-i aduca si pe ei in America.

Unchiu Stefan a zburat din tara cu ultimul avion in 1989, chiar dupa ce Revolutia  incepu-se si aeroportul sa inchis.

Din nefericire, acuma citeva zile a cazut jos de pe o scara, la lucru, si si-a lovit spatele. Ieri a avut o operatie care a fost foarte reusita si acum e in recuperare. Multumim Bunului Dumnezeu de protectia lui si ii dorim unchiului o precuperare rapida:)

Cu drag:)

IMG_4487

Uncle Stefan

IMG_4487He’s my mom’s younger brother, aunt Olga’s husband and now the proud owner of a successful back operation.

My uncle fell off a ladder a few days ago-work injury- and injured the lower lumbar disks of his back, more precisely, the jelly cushion known as intervertebral disks and their role are to absorb any shock from fall or trauma. He had surgery yesterday and everything went well:) Thank you, God:)

My uncle Stefan’s been dealing with severe asthma as far back as I could remember. This disabled him so severely, that his last year in Romania was spent mostly in the hospital. Through the help of Red Cross, he was able to come to America and settle in California where the weather is hot and dry and the medicine is far better than back home. The plane he flew on out of Romania was the last one to leave the country right as the revolution of 1989 begun. It was an impossibly hard decision to leave behind his beautiful wife Olga, and his five children. It would take about nine years (I can’t remember right the number so I may be off by few years here) until the family was able to re-unite. The paperwork process was long and dreary but eventually everyone was able to come:) Uncle Stefan’s health improved greatly here in America, especially in California due mostly to the weather, but also the medication. All his children (my cousins:) are married now, have good jobs and good lives, in California. I am so glad his surgery went well and his on the road to recovery now:)

So many times I get inspired by real people who endured hard times but succeeded in the end.

God Bless:)

The loss

“What a beautiful thing it is, to be able to stand tall and say: I fell apart, and I survived.”-riderek

I don’t know who riderek is as a person but I like the quote.

I join with everyone who shared their best wishes to the victim’s families of Las Vegas, aware that my frail words could never bring back the people you loved and lost. I’m so very sorry.

I’m glad my niece Sarah and her husband Kris are safe.

May everyone have a blessed and safe day today.

God bless.