All posts by vica

A slow lamp

Since we are relatively new in our new house, for about four months now, the lamps play a considerable part in our lives and in our conversations. We discuss which to buy, where to install them, which to install first, and which later.

We even started evaluating them according to their speed.

At lunch past Saturday, Michael (my husband) and Niklas (my son) discussed which lamps are the fastest.

Mind you, not the light, as I tried to point out. They were discussing lamps.

Niklas said the Road Runner lamps and the Speedy Gonzales lamps where the fastest.

“What about the headlights on our car? Are they as fast?” asked Michael.

Niklas shook his head.

Michael nodded. “No, you’re probably right, those of Road Runner and of Speedy Gonzales are faster.”

Niklas objected again. “But yes, the lamps on our car are fast! They are faster or at least as fast as those of Road Runner and of Speedy Gonzales.”

My attempt to claim the light to be the fastest of all, whatever the lamp it was coming from, was to no avail.

Apparently the lightning is even faster, according to my five-year-old son.

My ten-months-old daughter, Emma, is as excited about lamps as the rest of us.

Often when we enter her room, she searches the ceiling light with her gaze and a big smile, whether it is on or off.

And she confuses the German word “langsam”=”slow” with the word “Lampe”=”lamp”. Every time I ask her to take it slow down when she drinks out of her cup, she looks up, searches for a lamp and says, “M-p-p” or “M-p-pa”.

Picture: A selfie with Emma in her room and her favourite ceiling lamp.

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“Nothing is As it Seems” Chapter 3

Elizabeth turned to go, but in the last moment noticed a young woman watching her out of the window on the ground floor, farthest from the entrance.

When Elizabeth turned to face the woman, she didn’t disappear as Elizabeth had expected. Instead she smiled.

This moment of confusion and hope was spoiled by the man stepping closer to Elizabeth. “Please, go now.”

“OK, OK.” Elizabeth raised her hands as if letting to be arrested and saw that instead of softening the man’s look aggravated. And became nervous. He must have noticed the woman in the window as well.

Who was this woman?

I need to think about this later, decided Elizabeth as she headed to the street she crossed the night before.

But before she could lower her foot onto the road she had to jump back. Two cars stopped with screeching tires right in front of her.

The drivers of both cars secured their vehicles simultaneously as if following a strange choreography.

Both were oblivious of Elizabeth standing on the pavement and watching them.

One was obviously a nurse, taking hurriedly her uniform coat off while stepping out of her car. The other was a man, in his forties, with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He must have noticed the stethoscope as he slammed the car door shut, because he opened it again, took the stethoscope off around his neck and threw it on the driver’s seat.

The “mad” man, as Elizabeth started thinking about the man who woke her up this morning, became pale and hurried to the man with the stethoscope.

Both men whispered urgently and walked slowly to the house. The nurse passed them quickly and entered. The men didn’t seem to be in hurry but discussed something with grave faces, while the first man watched Elizabeth with a policeman’s look out of the corner of his eye. This corner was too broad not to notice.

Elizabeth sighed. She had to retreat if she didn’t want trouble. She crossed the street and turned the corner.

And almost bumped into a tree. A large tree. A huge and ancient tree.

How hadn’t she noticed it before?

Then she suddenly remembered. Not with her head, which turned to look briefly around and check if someone saw her. She remembered the tree with her hands and feet. Which started climbing, almost by themselves. With fewer grips than must have been many years ago, she was inside a dense forest of branches and took a seat on a narrow arm-chair, made of branches as well.

Elizabeth pulled her purse onto her lap and looked around. This tree. She must have climbed it before. She hadn’t climbed a tree since …

Since when actually?

Elizabeth couldn’t remember climbing a tree at all. She always thought she was afraid of hight and now she was sitting up in a tree.

How could that have happened?

A commotion somewhere in front of her stopped Elizabeth’s frantic attempt to remember.

The noise was coming from the house she came to last night, and from which she was so urgently sent away this morning. The nurse and the doctor, who arrived a few minutes ago in such a hurry, came out of the house. An elderly woman between them.

If this person wouldn’t have a softly coloured dress on, Elizabeth wouldn’t have guessed it was a woman.

There was something strange about this woman. She was hardly walking. No, she was not walking at all! The woman’s head was hanging low and it looked like the nurse and the doctor were carrying her.

What on Earth? Was she dead?

Elizabeth jerked back in her narrowly branched arm-chair.

No, no, this couldn’t be, she thought. The woman was probably just sick. But then why there was no ambulance, instead just two normal cars with medical personal ripping off their medical clothes and instruments and a few minutes later carrying the patient like two pals carrying a drunk friend home?

When Elizabeth peered out again the nurse’s car was making an U-turn. The elderly woman sat on the passenger seat, hanging strangely in there. Elizabeth couldn’t see more from her post in the tree. The doctor followed in his car close behind.

Elizabeth set back again in the tree.

What was that?

Was there something explainable or did this house hide some dark secrets?

Her thoughts were interrupted by another car. This time no screeching tires.

But one of its doors opened as quickly and shut as loud as by that doctor a few minutes ago. Elizabeth peered out again of her hiding place. This time the loud person was not a driver, but a girl running toward the house from the passenger side of the car.

“Alice, Alice!” The girl almost fell over the stairs as she tried to take two at once.

The young woman, who smiled at Elizabeth this morning from one of the house’s windows, ran out with her arms wide open. She caught the girl into a tight hug. Then she released her hug and held the girl at the length of her arms.

Elizabeth couldn’t make out what Alice, as it looked was the young woman’s name, said to the girl. But she could hear the girl’s clear bell-like voice. “It’s over, it’s over! I don’t have to go there anymore. And I can go back home!” The girls voice suddenly changed, still loud, but without the initial merriness in it. “I can leave now.”

The girl stopped and looked back at the woman, who must have driven her to this house.

The girl had tears in her eyes. “Mummy, I don’t want to leave.” She said these words quietly, but Elizabeth could lip-read them.

The girl’s mother crouched beside the girl, just like Alice did and they both patted and consoled the girl.

Elizabeth couldn’t move seeing this scene from aside.

Finally Alice said something that made girl’s face brighten and nod. The women stood up and all three entered the house.

Nothing else happened in the next, what felt like three hours, but probably had been only one. Although how could she, thought Elizabeth, had known when she was woken up and how long she had sat in that tree?

All she knew was that her rear side, starting with her neck and ending with her thighs, was completely stiff and hardly movable.

After checking that no one was looking, neither from the house nor from any angle she could overview from the tree, Elizabeth climbed down and hurried in the direction opposite to the house.

She needed to get to her hotel room as soon as possible, so that she could process all that she had witnessed and experienced this morning.

The house, the man, Alice-the-young-woman, the nurse, the doctor, the elderly-looking-so-dead-woman, the happy-then-sad-girl, her mother … The tree. All that was whirling in Elizabeth’s mind and she couldn’t make any sense out of it.

What was sure, hundred per cent sure, even more than hundred, was the fact that she had to come back to this house and find a way to go in. She simply needed to go inside and find out more.

And she needed a plan how to do that.

Picture: At an edge of a road.

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P.S. Chapter 4 will be written and posted in one of the coming two weeks.

P.P.S. You can find the complete story written so far at the page “Free Online Books”.

P.P.P.S. If you think you have friends who could like this story, feel free to forward this story to them.

 

Everything except one paragraph  (1st paragraph in Chapter 1) of “Nothing is As it Seems” is under copyright © 2015-2016 by Victoria Ichizli-Bartels

How a poster made my day

This is what happened last week. I picked Niklas from kindergarten and we took a bus to go home. Niklas was happy to see that his favourite seats right behind the driver’s cabin were free.

As soon as we set down Niklas looked up and saw a poster with speech balloons all over it, similar to the one we discovered a month before, where each of the balloons were of bright and different colour. Niklas asked me to read the text on the poster. As I read, we discovered that again all of the speech balloons, except one, had a phrase staring with Thank you.

“Thank you that you reduced the volume of the music you listen to. It is a great style!”

“Thank you for helping the woman with the stroller. It is very kind of you!”

“Thank you that you greeted the driver when you entered. It’s a great style!”

And so on.

The special one of the balloons had the following text:
“This is for you, who is on your way to a job interview. We cross fingers for you!”

I couldn’t stop a big smile widening my face.

And then I recalled the special speech balloon from the poster Niklas and I saw a month before. “This is for you, who is coming from the hairdresser’s. You look great!”

I reminded Niklas of that one and we both grinned. Right after that Niklas asked me to read all of the text on the poster again.

Picture: Niklas and I share the love for buses. This picture was taken in Cambridge last year in front of a double decker. We were thrilled to discovered that Niklas’s toy bus had the same number as the bus we saw on the street we were walking.

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P.S. The story “Nothing is Like it Seems”, which I started posting last week, will be continued next week. I will be posting this story bi-weekly until it finds its end.

“Nothing is As it Seems” Preface and Chapters 1 and 2

Preface

If you are interested to see how I came to write this story then take a look at this link and this one too.

The Chapter 1 has been posted already some time go (see one of the links above or here). I have made several editorials and added a new chapter.

Enjoy.

Note: the first paragraph in chapter 1 is coming from the bestselling novel by Menna van Praag “The House at the End of Hope Street”.

 

Chapter 1

The house has stood at the end of Hope Street for nearly two hundred years. It’s larger than all the others, with turrets and chimneys rising high into the sky. The front garden grows wild, the long grasses scattered with cowslips, reaching toward the long-hanging leaves of the willow trees. At night the house looks like a Victorian orphanage housing a hundred despairing souls, but when the clouds part and it is lit by moonlight, the house appears enchanted. As if Rapunzel lives in the tower and a hundred Sleeping Beauties lie in the beds.

Elizabeth’s hands dropped to her sides and her mouth opened.

Was this really the house she searched for? The house she came to, to find the answers. It looked nothing like the tall Gothic clog of the house with rain stains below its spiky turrets rising up in a war declaration.

Nothing like the house she remembered from her childhood. The childhood she’d tried to forget, but didn’t manage.

Except one single gap. Something so immense that it erased itself from Elizabeth’s memory.

Something that made her the person she was today. Sad, pale, with lips pressed into a flat circle of a cold copper coin.

She came in the middle of the night, because she couldn’t face the house in the daylight after so many years. And now she was glad she did so. If this house glowed now, in the moonlight, how would it look like during the day?

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and kept the aroma, coming from the wild roses that framed the door, inside her for as long as she could.

As she let the air out a sudden fear wrapped her into its icy arms. She came to find answers. At least she planned to do so tomorrow during the day. But this house, this fairy tale house surely couldn’t reveal anything. Someone new and good lived here. They were probably unaware of the torture and agony whirling inside this house when her family lived in it.

Elizabeth pointed her intent look at the door both hoping and fearing someone to come out.

And then she suddenly relaxed. Whether it was another gulp of rosy air, or the peacefulness of the street around her, or both, it made Elizabeth lower herself onto the fence base and lean on the metal vine branches behind her. She looked at the house.

Something must have happened here. Was this during this gap she was so keen to close? Maybe, whoever lived here knew what happened?

It must have been something big and terrible, she thought. Like a hurricane.

Only a hurricane had the ability to remove everything and leave an empty space for something new to grow.

Was she and her father part of this hurricane? Elizabeth realized that she both hoped and dreaded this.

Chapter 2

“Hallo?! Miss. Are you all right?”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and squinted at the light shocking her with its brightness.

Where was she?

A sharp pain in her neck made her cringe as she tried to support herself on her hands stretching her arms into vertical pillars. She was surprised to find herself sitting.

“Oh, you’re waking up. That’s good. Are you OK?”

Elizabeth raised her head and saw a young man, maybe her age, maybe a bit younger, bowing slightly over her.

Who was he? And why did he wake her up? “Who are you?”

The man took a step back and frowned.

“Well, I live here.”

“Where?”

“Here.” The man gestured behind him. “In this house. The question is what are you doing here?”

“I …” House? Elizabeth tilted her head and looked behind the man.

Oh no! Was she here all night?

“I …”, she said again. Say something, say something. I might as well tell the truth.

She drew a deep breath and ventured. “I was looking for the house from my childhood … and it is … it is this house. I hoped I could find out what—”

“No.”

“What?” Elizabeth focused at the man in front of her.

His concerned look evaporated and gave place to a gaze of steel. Somehow the house seemed to become a bit darker now, even in the bright sunshine. “You are mistaken. This is not the house you are looking for.”

What? “But how can you know?”

“Because this house have been my family’s property for centuries. And I surely don’t know you.”

“But I am convinced that I got the correct address. At least from my memory.” I shouldn’t have said that.

Elizabeth sat a bit straighter on the fence behind her. How did she sleep here all night?!

She drew a deep breath and said, “I found the house immediately, even in the dark and I remember it well.”

“I said no. Please leave this property. Now.”

The man took a step closer to her. Now he looked older than she was. And stronger. Much stronger. Elizabeth felt goose bumps all over her body and shivered.

She stood up. She thought of another attempt, but the look in the man’s eyes made her change her mind. There wasn’t a gate on the intricate fence. Elizabeth could bet that the man would slam it shut otherwise.

She needed to think of another plan to find out what she was looking for.

Chapter 3 will follow in a later post

P.S. You can find the whole story at this page.

Picture: Roses in my grandparents’-in-law garden.

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Everything except one paragraph  (1st paragraph in Chapter 1) of “Nothing is As it Seems” is under copyright © 2015-2016 by Victoria Ichizli-Bartels

Mid-month news: September 2015

My job as a mother

As any mother, with the birth of my first child I have signed up for the twenty-four seven on-call service. Now with two children, this service doubled within the same time-frame.

Although my fulltime day job as a mother, which I do for the second time in my life, is coming slowly to an end. I can hardly believe that my sweet little Emma will go to a nursery school in a bit over two weeks time. And a few weeks after that I will have another title during the daytime.

But as long as I am a full-time mother, I thought I will share the latest news from my sweet employer’s life.

It is simply amazing to watch Emma grow. When she tries to crawl, pulling all her body with the strength of her arms, when among other words she tries to say “schön” (nice, beautiful in German) by pronouncing it in a sweetest possible way as t-s-c-h-I, when she waves enthusiastically while seeing our two reflections in a mirror.

It is amazing how she takes care of me by allowing me to take a power-nap near her on the play rug in her room, while she plays with the toys spread all around us and without attacking my glasses, as she does when I am awake.

She is an amazing girl and I am so happy to have her, her brother and their father in my life. I am truly blessed.

Seeing my stories develop here in my blog

I am so glad there are words and writing to help me share my life and my imagination with you.

Writing is for me a reliable vehicle to tell you about my life as a mother, and my guess would be that the category “A mother’s diary” is one of the most crowded in this blog.

Time to time I share fictional stories with you here, and I have a news about it as well. Ever since I heard of sites, communities and groups, where books are written in real-time and shared bit-by-bit, I was intrigued to do the same here.

My dear friend and writing teacher Menna van Praag has graciously agreed for me to continue the story prompted by the first paragraph from “The House at the End of Hope Street”. You can read this post here.

So on the next week’s post you will be able to read the continuation of this story, both in a blog post and in one piece from the beginning to the last available sentence. And you will find this on the page “Free Online Books”.

Wishing you all wonderful second half of September.

Picture: Just before I took this picture I tried to distract Emma from our storage room and get her let go of the hand-broom. I’ve have put one of her favourite toys about half a meter away from her in order to elicit her out of the doorway to the storage. A few seconds later I found Emma like this: her beloved cow close to her and the hand-broom in her hands. Why not having it all?

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