Well, I've been wanting to add another section to my blog for awhile now, but I haven't known what to write; actually, I haven't known to whom to write. I've been able to write the "Family" section, because I knew that I was writing to my family, and so I knew what to talk about and how to talk about it. Originally, I had thought that I would add sections that addressed my Friends, Coworkers, and others who are in the field of work that I am, but the honest truth is that I don't have many friends, at least not the type that are close enough to be really interested in my life, and I don't have much to say to my coworkers that I can't say at work (what I do have to say, I wouldn't say to them, anyway).
Several times, I have pondered the idea of writing about Hungary and my experiences there. I've even made attempts in previous blogs to do just that, but they never came out the way I wanted them to. Again, I think a big part of that was that I didn't know who was reading those blogs. Still, Hungary fascinates me, it is a big part of my life, and I often recall the time that I spent there. A scent in the air, a sound, a breeze that touches me just right, these things often trigger vivid memories of my experiences in Hungary. As I get older, and that whole experience moves off into my past, I'm afraid of losing those memories that I love so much; already, some have gone, or have become so mixed and muddled that it is difficult to sort the truth out of them. It takes work to keep memories alive, and hopefully, writing about them will help do just that; if not, at least the writing will capture a record of my memories before they decay too much.
My interest in Hungary comes and goes, like the seasons. I never truly lose interest, but at some times, my interest is very strong, and I immerse myself in the language, culture, music, and cuisine of Hungary. I don't know what triggers times like these, but I wouldn't be surprised if the seasons truly do play a role in it. As seasons change, the world around me is brought to my attention, and I am more apt to see and feel those things that bring memories flooding back to me. Now is one of those times, as Amy can well attest. It's a sign of what a good wife she is, that she will put up with me when I'm like this, and even humor me.
Today, we all went to a little store in Burbank called "Otto's". Otto is a little Hungarian man who is probably in his 60's or 70's. He's not much taller than Amy, and has a scrunched up face, as all good little old Hungarian men do. Every time we've been there, he has been wearing the same outfit: shorts with suspenders, a red or white t-shirt, a little white hat, loafers, and black socks pulled up to his knees. He is the quintessence of little old Hungarian men, or, as we call them in Hungary, bacsik (BAH-cheek). Otto has been in business for 35 years, I learned today. He sells European imports, mostly from Hungary, including food, music, cooking gear, candy, liquor (if you're into that), books, magazines, and tons of other little things. Walking into his shop is like walking into a real "ABC" (market) in Hungary: it's dim, tiny, and stuffed to the rafters - claustrophobes beware.
I get a little nervous each time before we go to Otto's, a sort of anxiety that I will be called upon to speak Hungarian, so I had better be prepared. When I finally do get there, though, and start speaking with him, it is such a relief, and I have so much fun. Today, I really only spoke in "pidgeon" Hungarian, occasionally spitting out a word or two in Hungarian, and filling the rest in with English. He reciprocated, and so we had plenty of interesting conversation in English and Hungarian. I learned that his grandmother is still alive, and is 110 years old. I also learned that rough times may be ahead for Otto's, as the U.S. has put severe restrictions on imports from Europe; I hope that he as able to make it through, because I would hate to lose Otto's, and I don't think there is another store quite like it in all of the U.S. We had an enjoyable time, spent a ton of money, and got some good sandwiches t'boot.
So, here I am, in a Hungarian mood. I want to write about Hungary, and this feels like the place to do it. I hope that these occasional stories, anecdotes, and recollections might interest you. These things are a part of who I am, and it will feel good to share them, I think. Before I came home from Hungary, I - like most missionaries - gave a farewell speech. I was hesitant to do so, because I felt it somewhat inappropriate, but the members expected it. I told the people that I felt that I was a Hungarian. I had eaten their food, partaken of their culture, lived among them, and in doing all of that, I had become, in my heart, Hungarian. Hungary is my other home, and I hope that you won't mind if I share it with you.
11:27:02 PM 
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