Rediscovering books and tennis – and myself

I’ve been reading a lot and playing tennis nearly every day for the past month. While totally opposite in terms of physical effort, I find both equally exhausting, physically and mentally. I’m looking forward to my mother’s extensive library of classics in Hungarian – I have not read in Hungarian for quite a while. As my tennis partner said today: “tennis is a sport where you relax while making a mental and physical effort” – and indeed, I feel equally about books. 

It’s been a turbulent month, with a lot going on – while we are building our wings on the way down, we’ve managed to navigate everything gracefully, as partners in crime do. For that, and not only, köszönöm szépen, Kincsem. 

Barnes, on love

Love may not lead where we think or hope, but regardless of outcome it should be a call to seriousness and truth. If it is not that – if it is not moral in its effect – then love is no more than an exaggerated form of pleasure. (Levels of Life) 

Miss Izabel, pondering

We’re browsing older pictures with Izabel. This one is over 2 years old.  

Izabel: Mother, was I this small once? 

Me: Yes, indeed. 

Izabel: Were you also a baby once?

Me: Yes, indeed.

Izabel: Are you sad you no longer are a baby?

Me: In a way, yes. Because when you are a  baby, everyone looks after you, everyone smiles at you, everyone loves you. 

Izabel: I am not everyone, but I love you, mother. 

&&&

Izabel: Mor, var jeg så lille en gang? 

Mig: Ja.

Izabel: Har du også været baby en gang?

Mig: Ja. 

Izabel: Er du ked af at du ikke længere er en baby? 

Mig: Nej, men måske er det rart når man er baby. Alle passer på en baby, smiler til den, elsker den. 

Izabel: Mor, jeg er ikke alle, men jeg elsker dig. 

 

More Barnes

Some of the freckles I once loved are now closer to liver spots. But it’s still the eyes we look at, isn’t it? That’s where we found the other person, and find them still. (The Sense of an Ending)