Winter idyll

What this morning found around me. I’m a southern dog. All this white is hurting my eyes and paws. As for my owners, they find it soothing and calm. (ADD-IT: At least one :D). And right now the sun is shining too. It’s gonna be alright. (The story unfolds in the captions.)

Inspiration: Andrew Wyeth

Photo: MM

SL-WEEK 14: Memory

This is Trieste. A port city practically on the border between Italy and Slovenia. On which side of border, ‘ours’ or ‘theirs’? The answer depends on whether you asked me this now or three years ago.

This is Miramare Castle, a bit north of Trieste.

Beautiful, no?

And Trieste and Slovenian villages all around it could easily be “ours”. Alas, American troops that were stationed at Miramare after the Second World War for seven years saw to it that “peace was preserved”, and Trieste was eventually “returned to Italy”. And now I hear that independence is what the city is after. Be as it may, this plaque does not evoke nice memories. To a Slovenian.

And here are three more images that bring about mixed memories.

Photo: MM (+ last one by a nice person)

For Sylvain Landry’s SL-WEEK 14: Memory

WPC: Connectingcut

Here are some examples of how we stay connected. Photos are in couples as it should be. (Also, nothing has to do with Connecticut.)

First it’s the wires and the flowers. Bežigrad, Ljubljana.

More wires and flowers and a pigeon, in Piran.

More and more often a quiet spot is needed to connect. In Piran.

Up on Tinjan, on Italian-Slovenian border, and the view off it.

Piran, the board next to the monument erected on the occasion of Slovenia’s entry into the European Union. Translated, the poem by Slovenian poet Tone Pavček goes like this: The sun travels from the East to the West, making people happy here and there. Let us be the sun! (Translated by MM)

And then it’s again the bike and the leash and home.

But my favourite ways of connecting go something like this. Photos from two of my recent posts (first: Ljubljana, second: Piran).

Photo: MM

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Connected.”

And so it’s back to my teenage room and immediately it’s the Smiths again:

I would rather not go
Back to the old house
I would rather not go
Back to the old house
There’s too many
Bad memories
Too many memories

Memories are not just bad, of course, but for sure they are angsty. I’d needed many years of conversations with books before I gathered up the nerve to face the world.

This is the view from my window. Of my fir tree. It was planted when I was born, and look at it now.

Photo: MM

Well, or look at me.
We are doing all right.

The Smiths conclude:

I would love to go
Back to the old house
But I never will

I’m lucky. I am able to go. As for those teenage years, and since Morrisey will play in the city on October 10th: William (who is also a girl who lives far away and writes beautifully), it was really nothing.

1984. Big brother is watching you:

13th tournament on 13, Tournament Street

Our annual garden tarok tournament. For family and friends. So green, and mostly peaceful. Can hardly wait till next year.

Photo: MM & JM

Open House 19

And so new tenants are ready to move in. I’m happy about it.

This house has served as my home for some twenty years. Many things have happened. Upon entering, many people have said: “Oh, it feels like by the sea!” Even though this is Ljubljana, Slovenia, and the sea is 100+ km away. When I went to the USA, I found a big plastic board that said “Open House” and bought it without thinking. I boarded the plane with it under my arm, it was too big to pack. When I came back home, I put the sign by the kitchen window.

The idea of the open house came from Koper, Capodistria, I think I brought the sea with me. There was a little house there, under the vines, where a postman lived and a band practised.  Lou Reed and the Kinks were the soundtrack and everybody was welcome.

I had my open house open for many years, the neighbour could tell you exactly for how long, I’m sure she was counting. (Sorry, neighbour.) She was so happy when things changed and the only disturbances were dog shit and the pond excavations.

But this passed too and now a boy called Nemanja (not-Manja) is moving in with his family to take care of the pond, he is an enthusiast. And his mother is a translator. Everything figures out in the end.

I wish them a very nice stay. It is a good house.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Photo: MM

Destination Bežigrad

Some vistas are burned into our minds and we only realise how much so when we don’t see them for a while. And when we see them again, it’s just like it ever was, except different. Because they have not changed but maybe we have. This is driving north from the centre of my hometown, with the Kamnik Alps overlooking. This was my drive home for more than 40 years. It still is, but I have acquired a new one on top of it, one that includes zero traffic lights, one small volcano-resembling hill, one poppy field and one donkey.

Photo: MM