Dreams

When you first dream about them, you want them to be perfect: smart, beautiful, successful, popular and funny.

Until you lay on an awkward bed staring at your dream on a screen and a strange anxiousness seeps through that pink cloud surrounding your brain and crawls into the dwelling place of all your hidden thoughts and then you know that all you really want is them to be healthy.

Until your dream turns into a nightmare and you realize that for some, the simplest dreams can be hopelessly unattainable and instead of 'healthy' and 'perfect' you merely want them to breath and swallow on their own.

A year ago, I was dreaming about the arrival of our daughter, our new life and our first Christmas together, but my dream did not contain any oxygen tanks or feeding pumps or feeding tubes or therapists or specialists or messed up chromosomes. It's hard to wake up after a good dream . You try to hang onto that fleeting moment on the edge of consciousness when you linger between dreaming and awake. But once the dream is gone, all you have left is the longing.

True Terror

"True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country."

I haven't understood the true depth of this Vonnegut quote until I had a medically fragile baby and I began to interact with doctors and miscellaneous medical professionals on a regular basis. As a child, you think doctors are infallible, kind of like the Pope, until you grow a little older and you realize that they, just like the Pope (sorry, Grandma) are capable of making mistakes, and your awe morphs into simply impressed, which will be once again reduced to mere respect as  you finally realize that they are just the nerdy kid from your high school class. This revelation might sound banal but I was much more shaken up by it than by the realization that Santa Claus was not real (which I deduced from the fact that s/he had a bad odor and a badly designed fake beard as s/he was passing out gifts to us in kindergarten.)

See, when I was completing my Master's degree, I had a fairly good idea about the abilities and potentials of my fellow grad students.  I knew who were the slackers and who were the hard workers, I knew who were the ones who flunked their exams and who passed them with ease, I knew who were conscientious and who  were unscrupulous, I knew who would make good scholars, authors, translators or teachers and who were the ones who should not be teaching students, or even be allowed in close proximity to them. And it's the same with medical students: some of them are brilliant and they are all about their patients, while others should wear a warning sign and should not be let out of the lab and become practitioners. See, it's the same, except the MD after their name allows them access to your children's body and not just their mind.

Santa and my butt

December 6 is Mikulás ( Mee-koo-laash) day in Hungary, which is the Hungarian version of Saint Nicholas' Day. Mikulás is the Hungarian alias of Santa Claus who traditionally had his own separate day on December 6th and had nothing to do with Christmas, as the delivery of the Christmas gift was the department of Baby Jesus. It wasn't until the Iron Curtain was lifted that all the Anglo-Saxon traditions sneaked over the boarder and Santa usurped Christmas. Mikulás, who had a much thinner physique when I was a child, visits children on December 6th and fills their boots - cleaned and shined for this special occasion - ideally with treats. Hungarian Santa operates on a merit system: "good children" receive treats, such as candy, fruits and nuts, while "bad children" can only expect sticks (virgács), for the implied purpose of spanking the unruly kids. I know, social services and child psychologists would give Mikulás a firm warning, but they would probably also frown on the shady company he publicly associates himself with, as his companion is the devil-looking Krampusz and is considerably less cute than the Anglo-Saxon elves. 

When I was 19, Jenn, who has been one of my bestest friends in the world for 15 years now, invited me to spend Christmas with her and her precious family in New York. It was my very first time in the US and I had a wonderful time. It was also a great opportunity for me to be immersed in English and improve my intermediate level language skills. One Friday evening she took me to her church where she was a youth group leader and since it was December 6th, she asked me to explain to the youth the traditions surrounding Mikulás day. Of course I complied with her request, but when I got to the part where children clean and shine their boots and put them on the windowsill for Santa to stuff them, I made a slight mistake and confused the word 'boots' with the word 'butt', which created a quite different and most likely painful imagery in poor kids head, potentially scarring them for life. And if my friend Jenn hadn't promptly corrected me, these kids would have grown up thinking that Hungarians were the most perverted people in the world. Happy Saint Nicholas Day, Jenn! I miss you.

Writing 101: Rhetorical devices

In order to make your writing more colorful and vivid, you need to use some rhetorical  devices.  If I were to write a post about health care, for instance, I would probably use an opening line that is somewhat shocking in order to perk interest in my audience. Maybe the following sentence would suffice:

'Can anybody explain to me how it is possible that insurance does not  cover a baby's feeding pump and feeding bags when the aforementioned baby has silent aspiration?' 

And that's what we call a rhetorical question since its purpose is not to obtain the information that the question asks, as I don't really expect an explanation from my audience. If I followed up my opening line with another interrogative, saying:

'Why would insurance cover the feeding pump and feeding bags after all, when eating by mouth would only kill my baby?' 

it would be a further example of a rhetorical question, combined with another rhetorical device called irony. My words are ironical because if taken literally, they express understanding and agreement, whereas  my intent is to convey quite the contrary. (Mind you, verbal irony should not be confused with sarcasm, which is the tone of voice that often times accompanies irony). Another example of a rhetorical device is the metaphor. In order to illustrate how to use a metaphor, I could say:

'Health care costs have skyrocketed' or

'It makes  my blood boil that we have to pay several hundred dollars every month just for medical equipment despite our expensive insurance coverage'

In these sentences, I used figurative language to imply a comparison between a rapidly rising rocket and the rapidly rising medical costs as well as between anger and a hot liquid. Metaphors should not be confused with similes, which are more explicit comparisons and use the words 'like' and 'as'. A simile would be

'Dealing with the healthcare system as the parent of a disabled child is like being a mouse trapped in a maze'. 

Now when I say:

'I cannot really complain about our insurance coverage because it saved us from financial annihilation considering that it has paid millions of dollars for Izzy's medical bills already'

it might seem like I'm using a hyperbole for emphasis, but I'm not.  In order to qualify for a hyperbole, an expression has to be exaggerated, so I would have to use the expressions 'billions' or 'zillions of dollars'. Naturally, the writer can employ a multiple of rhetorical/literary devices within one utterance. See if you can spot all of them in the following sentence:

'I know that my thinking got corrupted as a result of growing up with universal health care and consequently my mind is full of crazy ideas, such as health care should be a person's inalienable right, but regardless, a system that causes millions to go bankrupt while an unregulated monopoly makes huge profit on people's misery is broken."

Hopelessness

I finally watched Revolutionary Road on the weekend, a film about hopelessness and how it disintegrates people and relationships. Hopelessness is a horrible thing indeed. It sneaks into your soul, quietly gnaws on your heart until you wake up one morning to the dull pain of having a hole inside of you. Hope is the air that your soul needs to sustain itself. It helps you to get up after each fall, brush off failure of your clothes, wipe away the hurts and fears and then keep going despite the bruises. You can endure some mind-boggling, harrowing devastation  if you have hope, but if you lose it, even the most mundane things are unbearable.

So in order to help maintain balance in the universe, I also watched a short film about hope The Butterfly Circus, which was sent to me by one of my bestest friends in the world. And because I'm such a nice person, I will share it with you. If you have 20 minutes and you are in the mood for some allegory, visit the link bellow.

http://www.thedoorpost.com/hope/film/?film=4dd298f102c77b625cf37a9e7744ac68

In the eye of the beholder

If you believe that your more attractive friend, sibling, co-worker or fellow-defendant received preferential treatments in various social situations, I am here to tell you that it was not just a figment of your imagination produced by your low self-esteem, it really did happen. But you can't get too riled up by this manifestation of human shallowness because you are also guilty of this crime. We all are, due to a phenomenon called 'halo effect'. Research has shown that people automatically assign positive traits to physically attractive individuals while being completely unaware that their judgement is being clouded by such factors as bone structure and facial symmetry. The dangerous consequences of the halo effect manifest themselves as favorable hiring decisions, higher salaries, more votes, preferential treatment and lighter sentences for physically attractive individuals. In a way, we are still 5 and we assume that villains are ugly, princes are charming, and good-looking people possess such positive attributes as kindness, talent, honesty, and intelligence. Research has found that the physical appearance of individuals has an impact on their perceived intelligence, as more attractive people received higher ratings and were deemed smarter than the less attractive participants.

I wonder if the surprised exclamations about Izabella's aesthetic qualities are also consequences of the halo effect. I'll never forget how astonished her very first visitor was when she laid eyes on her and cried out "but she is perfect". She confessed that after I had told her about Izzy's condition, she expected that her disability would be reflected in her appearance. I did not take offense, and still don't when I encounter the same surprise, it just makes me wonder. When people draw conclusions about her intelligence and tell me that she looks so smart, I wonder if it's her charm and angelic face that enchants them. I also wonder if she would be treated with such kindness if there were obvious tell-tale signs of her disability. I don't know. I'm only sure about one thing: you have to be wary of good-looking politicians.

My Sunny Friend

Do you have that friend who is always so darn positive and charming and whose disarming smile makes your anger dissipate and lightens up the heaviest moods, lights up the darkest room and brightens up the greyest of days?  Whose face is always glowing with optimism and whose lips always have at least a faint little smile dancing around them? Do you know that friend who has the magical powers to cheer you up even on the most hopeless days? Who just exudes warmth and goodwill and like a magnet draws people closer and closer because they all want to warm up in this presence of lovingkindness? Do you know that friend that you just love deeply but deep deep down you wish that just once they would have a bad day, not an awful one, just bad enough to make them a little grumpy, or maybe even let a bad word slip through their celestial smile, so you would know for certain that they are human and maybe it would make you feel less guilty about your own imperfection? That's Southern California weather for you: bright and sunny all the time. It was bright and sunny on Thanksgiving day of course and we, who came from a land where November sunshine is a rare treat, could not bear the guilt of staying inside and went to the beach with the Bean. It was our second Thanksgiving on the land of eternal sunshine, and it still felt weird to be warmed up by the sun and not by the perfect fire that "the boys" competed to build in my in-law's fireplace. I loved the November sunshine and the waves but it didn't fade the longing for that fire that we used to gather around, on a different land, in a different life.

What's in a name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

What Shakespeare has Juliet say in the famous balcony scene summarizes the essence of the argument against political correctness and the use of euphemisms. Opponents of P.C. terms argue that a spade should be called a spade, a rose a rose, and a retarded person, well, retarded, since it is the connotations and attitudes surrounding a word that is offensive and not the word itself.

One of the fundamental features of human language, is the arbitrary relationship between form (the sequence of sounds) and meaning (the concept). In plain English, there is no logical reason why a certain word represents a certain meaning in a given language. The word 'rose' only evokes the beauty and the sweet smell of the plant in question because of the learned association between its sound and meaning. It could just as well be called 'flufficuff' or 'trumbwerturf'; in fact, in Hungarian it's called 'rózsa' and it smells and looks the same over there as it does in the US.  Words only represent concepts, but they are not the concepts themselves. One can argue that banning the word 'retarded' and replacing it with the more gentle 'cognitively challenged' or 'intellectually disabled' does not accomplish anything, since it will still denote the same concept.

The linguist Steven Pinker points out in his article 'The Game of the Name' that "The euphemism treadmill shows that concepts, not words are in charge: give a concept a new name, and the name becomes colored by the concept; the concept does not become freshened by the name."  We can acknowledge the validity of Dr. Pinker's argument if we consider the fate of the term 'retarded' and its linguistic predecessors. The word 'retarded' was in fact introduced as an euphemism to replace the derogatory and emotionally laden 'stupid'. It's hard to believe that the term 'moron' was also used in medicine and lacked any emotional overtones as recently as the 1970s. These terms have gone through a type of semantic change, called pejoration, which is a gradual worsening of a word's meaning. The fact that the past few decades have produced several new sets of politically correct terms, which turned into new sets of derogatory terms, shows that semantic shift does not automatically entail a shift in societal attitude and thinking.

However, it doesn't mean that banning derogatory terms from public usage is unnecessary, rather, it means that it is not sufficient to achieve real change. While a more gentle and more respectful word will not guarantee respectful treatment and attitude, it does provide the necessary means to show respect, while saving people at the receiving end some serious heartache. It's also taking a public stance against the attitudes and thinking that lie behind the pejorative word. While certain "politically correct" terms go too far and not only boarder ridiculousness but easily cross the line, there are certain occasions when linguistic intervention is appropriate. There are certain groups in society who do not have the societal or political power to defend themselves against prejudice and unfair treatment, therefore it's the responsibility of society as a whole or the government to speak up for them.

Being this close to the ground, I can safely say, that the term "vertically challenged" is ludicrous and far more offensive than calling me simply short. At the same time, most of us would agree that banning the once neutral word 'negro' along with its much harsher alliterating variant was a necessary step in the battle against racism. Simply getting rid of 'the word' did not magically and suddenly eradicate racism, but it sent a message to the public, that the inferior treatment of African-Americans was not acceptable. One of the signs that African-Americans achieved equality in the US (besides the reign of Oprah and  President Obama) is that the names 'black' and 'African-American' have been stable and there is no need to replace them. Hopefully, the fight against prejudice and bigotry against the intellectually disabled will not end with ending 'the word' and a shift would take place in people's minds and hearts, otherwise we can start brainstorming to find a new P.C. word now.

Lie to me

My parents are the only people in this universe who believe that my daughter looks like me, or more precisely, the baby-version of me. In order to support their claim, they e-mailed me some of my baby pictures. Upon receiving these black-and-white last century photographs, I summoned my husband and dared him to say that there was no resemblance between Izabella and my baby-self. My husband, who is convinced that Izzy  only looks like him, shook his head smugly, then casually pointed to one of the photographs."She looks like you in that picture" he said graciously. It was a photo of Izzy, placed right beside my baby picture to illustrate the resemblance. That's it. I'm looking for one more person on planet Earth who will  back me up, yet is not biased by the fact that s/he had an active part in my making. So, I'm posting some photographs and I'm expecting the following kinds of comments: "Erika, your parents are absolutely right, Izzy does look like you" or "Awh, she's got your eye shape" or "Yes, I do see the resemblance between you".  I'm also going to shoot myself in the foot by posting some Baby Phil pictures, thus giving you the opportunity to tell me such things as "Erika, you are absolutely out of your mind. Izzy looks nothing like you, she is all Dad. Are you sure that you are her mother?" 

Erika:

Izzy:

Phil:

Randomness

Before I drown in my own deep thoughts or make you suffer a metaphor-overdose, here is some fun stuff. Nancy, the queen of awesomeness, saved you from another low-flying musing post by tagging me and thus giving me a blogging award. The queen of awesomeness is not the name of her blog, but the title that I hereby bestow upon her for making me smile, laugh, cry, swoon, and ponder, all in one post sometimes. You should check out her magic at Away We Go.


So, here are the rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


The challenging part of the this task was to restrict the weird randomness to only 7. Here we go:


1. When I see a man with a scalp partially or wholly lacking hair, I have an almost irresistible urge to slap his shiny bald spot with the palm of my hand. Not to hurt him, but to make a loud smacking sound. It's really hard to resist when such a scalp is positioned right in front of my face in a lecture hall, movie theater, or the opera.


2. I have a strong attachment to my purses, handbags, and shoulder bags and don't usually go anywhere without one. Once, when I was a teenager, I ran back onto a burning bus to rescue such a bag that held my official papers. It was even harder to replace official papers back then in Hungary. The bus was so filled with smoke that I had no use for my eyesight and I had to use my other senses to locate the bag. It took about 1 minute to carry out this mission and as soon as I got off the bus, the bus folded and went up in flames like a giant torch. Without me in it. And that's one of the reasons why God doesn't owe me anything.


3. Stray dogs love me. They can spot me in a large crowd. They could smell me out if I was hiding in a giant sausage factory. I must have 'sucker' written on me somewhere in Dogese. I have taken several stray dogs and an occasional cat or two home during my childhood and teenage years. I got this from my Dad who has a large assortment of stray animals at his vineyard. He acts like he is annoyed by them, but he keeps feeding them and talking to them. I call him Dr. Doolittle. However, homeless people are also attracted to me. (Think unkept healthy-looking male downtown Budapest or New Haven with a vague scent of alcohol lingering around him.) I have never taken any homeless people home though.


3. I never sit down on public toilets. Not even when I'm nine months pregnant. I have good leg muscles.


4. I've never outgrown my compliance issues, or as some people call it, 'rebelliousness'. When somebody tries to boss me around or tell me to do something, my gut reaction is 'no' with a subtle shrug of my shoulder. I want to do the exact opposite, just because. And sometimes I do.


5. I can get very focused and engrossed in my thoughts, which is dangerous while walking downtown Budapest. Once a young man asked me if I have a cigarette. I sweetly told him, 'no, thank you'. It took me a while to realize why he gave me a puzzled look. Similarly, once I was riding a bus to a lecture in Budapest and the bus passed my bus stop in spite of me pushing the button and indicating my intent to get off. So I walked up to the driver and kindly pointed this out to him. In response, he pointed out that I got on the wrong bus.


6. While watching TV, I always push the mute button during the commercials. And sometimes I don't even un-mute it after the commercials are over, because I find the program more entertaining this way. Especially when dancing and too much coolness is involved.


7. Sometimes I have conversations with Izzy and I gently make her little lips move with my hand while providing a voice for her. She always tells me such things as  'mommy you are so awesome' or 'you are the best mommy in the world'.


I selected the following 7 people because their posts usually have a lot of substance and depth and relevance and usually don't engage in a great deal of trivial silliness on their blog. And I really want to learn 7 weird or random things about them.


1. Therextras
2. Cinda
3. life with a severely disabled child
4. Single Dad/Disabled Daughter
5. The Iron Chicken
6. a moon, worn as if it had been a shell
7. The bunny years