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December 14, 2005

Happy Holidays?

At some point in my life, I started to feel the charm of Christmas eluding me, a feeling extending to the secular aspect of the holiday, far beyond the candlelight midnight Mass.

Children who still believe in miracles make the holidays beautiful. Having grown up in a Communist country with so few material goods easily available, I was ecstatic just to receive a new pyjama or a pair of slippers under a tree lit with real candles. I never could understand how the angels had slipped it through the window in the first place.

Now, in North America, and in many places around the world, so many of us live in an affluent society. When it comes to gifts, a few of us need anything. But there are different ways of being happy during holidays.

Last week, as I pushed through the dense crowds populating the streets of Manhattan, businessmen with briefcases, holiday shoppers, families striding toward the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, awsome in its festive, colorful lighting and holiday air, I wondered: how many are not celebrating Christmas? How many are there because they enjoy being part of the festive scene regardless of their religion, content to witness joy around them and being part of it.

What is all this discussion whether to say Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or Happy Holidays? So much damage occurs in this world in the name of God, each religious faction claiming theirs to be the One and Only Supreme Ruler. Why can’t we just be happy in our own niche, drawing happiness from within, as Maddalena did?

Posted by Eva Siroka at 10:17 PM | Comments (0)

Is Fame Important?

What a tricky question. But I should answer it, since I had posed it in the first place.

When I began writing Maddalena, I wanted to share a story different from so many, many others we read these days, which repeat, often just in different shades of the tale.

King Kong will soon be playing in the theaters. If we question why again a film, or a story we all know so well, the answer is in the word progress. Awed by the ingenuity of the animation artists of the thirties, and of the later versions, we realize that the computer wizards of today will do so much better. I had never imagined the true blood and gore of fairy tales when I read them as a child, and now I tend to shrink away from so many violent, computer-animated scenes on the screen. But technology and new perspectives are important.

Is that a good reason to continue retelling the story of King Kong into infinity? Why not.

So now you ask: what does all that have to do with fame?

Whenever we do something special, something we’re proud of, we want to share it with everyone. I love sharing my beautiful garden with my internet readers, far beyond the pedestrians who daily pass my house. Does that make me famous? Probably not. But recently, the NY Times shared the story of my dream house with its readers, my home that had nourished the story of Maddalena. In no time at all, my buddies offered congratulations.

You’re a celebrity now, one voiced. Can I have your autograph, another added, jokingly.

Dear reader, I just want everyone to love Maddalena. She is the character to be cherished.

Posted by Eva Siroka at 10:07 PM | Comments (0)

The Birthday That Almost Wasn't

I can’t believe how long I’ve not written. Dear reader, you must think that I’ve forgotten you, or even Maddalena.

Not so. Please step back with me in time. Two months ago I left, all excited, for Sicily, but only now I’m beginning to think about a fun journey that had nearly cost my life.

Oh, Sicilia, what beautiful land you are, where the past and present surround the visitor under azure skies. But, how you had fooled me! The Straits of Messina were stormy dark, except for the massive lightning bolts directing the ferry across the channel.

Travelling, as we all know, can be adventurous. So, I held no grudges. The next day, Mount Etna loomed majestically against the blue skies, framed like an empress in one of the arches of the Greek theater in Taormina.

And then, after another day packed with exciting sites, and ready for a late dinner, I found myself on the ground in the middle a street, with a throbbing head and hurting body, utterly and completely disoriented. A hush of voices brought me back, to find out that I had been hit by a car--unknowingly, and from behind, by a young man who had the gut to ask why I didn't hear his honking as he was about to hit me.

Well, I didn't. Neither did my husband. At least the car had missed him.

How do I feel now? Much better. More importantly, it no longer matters that the dark street, void of cars and people, had a huge red light flashing no entry for vehicles, or that my bruised body quickly protested a journey that had once been a dream of a lifetime.

I sit here, frustrated by a mind that still plays tricks on me once in a while, remembering all the good things, grateful for having celebrated another birthday after coming home. I almost feel immortal, like the gods whose beautiful temples I had missed.

Some day, I’ll finish the journey. There is so much to experience. Ancient treasures, incredible topography, memorable cuisine. But for now, I prefer to cherish every minute of each and every new day.

Posted by Eva Siroka at 09:42 PM | Comments (0)