A New Way of Reading

Mór Jókai

Growing up in Sydney, then through high school in Seattle, I read voraciously. Enid Blyton wrote over twenty books in the children's series, The Famous Five, and another seventeen in The Secret Seven series. I probably read most of them, if not all. Then my sister was reading breast-heaving novels by Georgette Heyer who wrote over forty-eight of them. I probably red six or a dozen.

I graduated to several novels by Dickens, Jane Austin, Emily and Charlotte Brontë, and even Thackeray's Barry Lyndon before tackling Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf and Magister Ludi, Tolstoy's War and Peace, and Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and Crime and Punishment.

I would devour novels. It took me only three weeks to read War and Peace, one day to read Jane Eyre, and a week to get through Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy. I was that eager to find out what happens at the end.

Law school cured me of the reading habit. I had to read so many legal opinions, my eyesight grew weak and, frankly, I was burned out. Pretty much all I read was non-fiction. In more recent years, thanks to the encouragement of my sister who had passed on those Georgette Heyer novels, I became fascinated reading a translation of Les Miserables. It took me a couple of months or more to get to the end.

Two years ago I tackled Egri csillagok ("The Stars of Eger"), the Hungarian historical novel which is one of the most widely read books in Hungarian literature. I purchased an English translation, became dissatisfied with it when I compared it to the original Hungarian text, and spent a year on my own translation. (Copies available at Lulu.com.)

As I approach retirement, I am thinking maybe I should take up reading more seriously. I spent $1.99 on another Hungarian novel, an e-book version of a 19th century English translation of another Hungarian historical novel, The Golden Age in Transylvania by Mór Jókai. That was slow reading. I was bothered by the translation. As with Egri csillagok, I downloaded the Hungarian original, Erdély aranykora, as a text file from the web. 

I became dissatisfied with the Victorian English translation as I compared it to the Hungarian original and decided to make my own translation. That was twenty-four days ago. I just finished the translation this morning. The initial hard work of translation is done and my eagerness to find out what happens at the end has been satisfied. At least for this novel, I not only devoured it, I ruminated over the meaning of each sentence before going onto the next.

The novel really is a page-turner. It is a written historical novel set in the semi-independent Principality of Transylvania in the years 1661-1674.

It is also a psychological novel with historical characters that have depth and evolve.

In some chapters, the novel is a fantasy with detailed descriptions of exotic oriental pleasure palaces set in the remote mountains of Transylvania and the northern Carpathians. Translating Jókai's descriptions of forest streams, craggy mountains, polished rock cirques, and even an avalanche brought back my own memories of hiking in the Cascades and Olympic Mountains. Clearly, the author had visited and observed such places. The Victorian translation either omitted these vivid descriptions or condensed them into a short paragraph.

A Reclining Odalisque,
by Gustave Léonard de Jonghe, c. 1870

Then there is many a passionate breast-heaving scene, which portions the Victorian translation also omitted, and a generous sense of comedy, sometimes slapstick, often subtle. Jókai knew very well how to appeal to a broad audience of human emotions.

Chapters bounce back and forth in time and from scene to scene. Connections develop as the novel progresses, and seemingly inconsequential details and the occasional obvious clue assume necessary significance in a later chapter. The chapters are like scenes in a play, and Jókai's descriptions of the characters' emotions and thoughts are like a playwright's directions to actors on a stage.

The fantasy scenes are an allegory and the themes are hubris and the seductions of wielding and manipulating power. It is a novel about a national tragedy.

Mór Jókai in his study

Jókai participated in ill-fated Hungarian war of independence, 1848-1849, and kept a low political profile for the following fourteen years during which he wrote some thirty novels. The Golden Age in Transylvania was published in 1852. After the Great Compromise of 1867 established the dual monarchy of Austro-Hungary, he was even more prolific: several hundred volumes. His novels were translated and very popular in Victorian Britain, even with the Queen herself. 

There is lots of material to satisfy my need for a hobby. I have a new way of reading. Instead of quickly reading a novel to simply take in the plot, having to translate slows me down to appreciate and admire the details.

The hard cover of my treasured Hungarian-English dictionary is beginning to wear and tear at the folds. I am addicted to not only Google translate (mis-translations often great for a good chuckle), but also to Google's Hungarian dictionary that often holds clues to decipher archaic or unusual Hungarian words. Often I had to get up and pace, maybe make another cup of coffee, before the meaning of a baffling, obscure and convoluted (to an English reader) Hungarian sentence pops into my mind.

As I walk Nazar the Wonder Dog in the wash, my mind is full of prose.

Merry Solstice, Christmas and Happy New Year!

A Closer Look at Our Little Acre

We got many compliments on the previous edit, and I am learning to slow down and focus in with my video camera. This edit reflects more detail.

The Sonoran Desert has shapes, colors, and textures large and small. On our own little acre where we have cleared and planted, each plant has become a familiar friend.

The soundtrack is Brahim Fribgane playing the oud. Born and raised in Morocco, Brahim Fribgane brings to his music the rich and varied musical styles he grew up with - North African, Gnawa, Berber, Arabic and Andulusian music. His oud style ranges from the clear, "singable" melodies of folkloric Berber songs to beautifully complex and soulful Arabic music.

November at San Simeon

The heat of summer is forgotten as we wear long pants and a sweater in the mornings, then shed layers as the sun in a cloudless blue sky heats up the days. We had some rain a week ago. One hardy creosote bush responded with flowers. The devil's tongue barrel cactus is budding with deep red flowers.

We have spotted the owl in the eucalyptus tree several times. Judging by the offal on the park bench directly below its perch, and the scattered feathers on the driveway, the owl has been a successful hunter.

Much thanks for the many kind comments.

"Thanks Shari for sending the video and well done Tom-you certainly capture the desert garden, loved the music and was that an owl because it was great capture!" 

 " OMG. ... This is amazing, beautiful, sculptural, spiritual, melodic, under the watchful eye of the owl, and the moons glow. Wow. The hardscape, the stately cactus the protector of the many pots, and steps of continuous beauty. You have created, recreated the essence of Turkey, Australia, India etc, all them warmer exotic places that I have unfortunately not gotten to yet,. Congrats on so much hard work, and grace and beauty that you have shared with us and all that come by your place." 

 "What a beautiful garden that we would like to discover for real !" 

"Very beautiful yard, vegetation and even an owl! I love the editing with such lovely music as always." 

"WONDERFUL!!!! I really plan to see all that/YOU next… May? I hope I hope!!!!" 

 "One word: Fabulous!! makes us wish we were there." 

"🙏🏼 What a masterpiece you’ve created! The video is an amazing meditation in the midst of chaos." 

"Lovely lovely lovely! Thank you!!!" 

"So very nice! Great job, Tom. Such a perfect sanctuary! Thanks for sending, Shari! Always love seeing your place, in real life or in pictures!" 

 "Thank you for sharing views of your magical desert gardens. It's raining cats and dogs here--has been for days and no end in sight. ... It's such an interesting mix of plants, pots, whimsical items, paths, walls, furniture and level upon level of beauty. You two are sensational stewards of the land." "A lot of work but looks beautiful and well done!" 

 "Your garden arts are amazing, so to know you think Tom’s display being wonderful is quite the compliment!" 

"What a wonderful tour of your Oasis. Wish I could teleport down there for a few days and suck up the sounds and smells you capture so well." 

"Love the movie….the ending is WOW. Your place is so wonderful….I love it and miss my time there." 

"Thanks, that’s wonderful., and so much warmer and sunnier than say, Whidbey Island November-June. You’re lucky to have all those wonderful rocks to play with. " 

 "WOW.........put me into another place inside and out. Especially like the owl and crescent moon at the end of day. Thx a million for sharing your WONDER FULL garden."

Saint Simon

It's only a coincidence, but then, so many coincidences are intriguing.

We live on San Simeon Drive. It's named after a San Simeon Ranch that used to be in this area. The Spanish had a nice custom of naming things after saints. In this case, the namesake is Saint Simeon the Stylite, a Fourth Century ascetic saint who achieved notability for living 37 years on a small platform on top of a pillar near Aleppo in what is today's modern Syria.

Since we ditched the idea of dish/cable television, Shari and I converted to the internet. We already had subscribed to Netflix and Prime. We exchanged DirectTV for a subscription to Britbox.

Much of the time we simply watch YouTube. It's amazing what you can find on YouTube — intelligent documentaries, house buying in the British and French countryside, travel programs, early music concerts, old movies and television shows. We've watched all the Sherlock Holmes movies with Basil Rathbone and many of the Sherlock Holmes television programs with Ronald Howard.

I remember watching television as a kid in Australia. By golly, the original Aeroplane Jelly commercial is on YouTube. Just search for it. The 1950's Robin Hood series starring Richard Greene is there, as is Jet Jackson — but neither has aged that well.

One day I searched "The Saint". Shari vaguely remembered the TV show. I have specific memories watching the program in Sydney on the family boob tube — in glorious black & white. Which it is.

We have been watching an episode of The Saint in the evenings ever since. It's a bit of a dinner routine. Many episodes of the first season are uploaded to YouTube, plus a few programs from later seasons, including color from seasons five and six.

We ran out of The Saint episodes that we hadn't seen. Although many of the 114 episodes (six seasons, 1962 to 1969, go figure) are on YouTube, only about a dozen are watchable. Most are in a strange, unwatchable format posted, no doubt, by the copyright owner: a frustratingly small screen set within a distracting background screen.

Frustrated, I searched online for DVD's.  They exist. The entire The Saint series on 33 (thirty-three) DVD's. Prices from $44 to $150. We went with $44 via eBay. No problem. Less than a week later, I ripped all 114 episodes and loaded them onto my external hard drive.

We dial up an episode at whim on our big screen TV through our Roku USB input.

I have to be honest. I never liked Roger Moore in his later role as James Bond. He always seemed out of shape.

When I first searched for The Saint on YouTube, I was curious why we liked the show so much in Australia. Well, Roger Moore as Simon Templar is dashing and debonair, lithe and svelte. No question. His expressions are timeless; the stories are always light, entertaining, and have a good ending.

Each show begins with Simon's introductory monologue to the camera, then someone recognizes him by name. Camera re-frames on Simon to leave space above his head where a halo suddenly appears. Simon looks up, as if at his own halo, and smiles. Theme music plays. The episode is introduced.

Although almost all episodes were shot in English studios, camera crews took establishment footage from all over the world to create a masterful illusion of international intrigues in London, Paris, Rome, Buenos Aires, Mexico, Costa Brava, Cannes (of course), Canada, Bahamas, New York, Athens and Cornwall. It's fun just to see vintage 1960's cars, trucks and buses on the roads.

Simon Templar is a gentleman who doesn't back off from a fistfight, and who is never taken in by a beautiful woman.

Simon drives his Volvo sports car (license plate ST-1), plays opposite beautiful women and cunning men, has an obligatory fist fight or two in each episode (much more convincingly playful than Roger as Bond), and, against all odds, mischievously solves the problem of the day in a very honorable, gentlemanly, and unexpected manner — nay, even saintly.

So here at San Simeon, we have become enamored of The Saint Simon Templar. We also like living on a small dead-end street named after Saint Simeon the Stylite.

Coincidence?

Chipmunks, Dirt Piles & Rocks

The front of our San Simeon house is the pretty much the first domestic place you see driving in. It has a rock slope below the house, an area I call the Cirque. The rock is Catalina granite boulders and rocks — pale somewhat soft, with quartz veins and sparkling mica.

Granite isn't granite without mica and quartz.

I like Catalina rock. It's local. It's where we are situated, and what naturally exists in our washes and Foothills. It's subtle and pretty. At least it was until the pack rat, tiny white mice, and cute, abrubt-speedy chipmunks moved in.

First was the pack rat hoarded debris. Swept some up then spooned dry concrete into the cavities. Hosed it down. Looks solid. Mostly islands of Catalina rock poking out from grey cement treacle.

We have had lots of rodent activity this summer. We hired a pest control service ...
but that's another story.

Concreting that slope made sense. The scupper that drained about a quarter of the roof splashed and poured down that same part of the slope. The flow of erosion had already washed some dirt away and made the rocks collapse inwards some. That area needed the concrete.

Then I noticed increased chipmunk activity. Fresh green gouges had been chewed out of my prized hanging cactus and torch cactus.

The other clue was big dirt piles on my Catalina rock slope, like ugly mining tailings of which there are already way too many in the Copper State.

The clincher was seeing chipmunks hanging around on that rock slope, then disappearing in small holes above the dirt tailings.

Casus belli. It meant war.

It was war.

My weapons were cement blocks, stucco, gravel, 60 lb. bags of pre-mix concrete, chicken coop wire, wheelbarrows full of dirt, and my hard earned experience with the various burrowing reptiles and mammals we have here in the Sonoran Desert.

And stripping the heavy rocks off, then strategically stacking them back up.

The slope is beginning to take the shape of two terraces, which means two solid surfaces on which the traverse the slope and attend to pruning.

I still have a couple of days work left. Hopefully, what I am doing will hold them there varmints.

Smoke in the House

Water heater burn-out.

It happened once before, an unusually acrid smell and smoke wafting out the door that leads to our small, centrally located utility room; the one that holds the heat exchange system, water heater, alarm system, door bell, vacuum cleaner, and IKEA shelves holding boxes and piles of shoes, boots, winter hats, sewing machine and notions, light bulbs, extension cords, spare cushions, fabric ….

Just outside the door to the utility room is the security system smoke alarm. It makes a phone call to a light bulb in Central Alarm headquarters and someone there calls the house (Are you okay? What is your security code?), or the person calls the fire department and they also call us, or all of them call us.

The alarm went off. We ran towards the noise and immediately noticed the smoke coming out from the utility room. We ventured inside fearful of flames. There was just acrid smoke coming from an electronic control box of the heat exchange system. The unit was fried.

A heat exchange system has two parts. A large unit inside and another large unit outside and plumbing in between that circulates a heat-cold retaining fluid. If it runs one way, it takes heat out of the house. If it runs the other way, it brings heat into the house. It was an old system that probably dated back to when the house was built, 1978.

We replaced the entire system. We even paid for the rental of a crane to hoist the outdoor unit over the concrete block wall that serves as its enclosure. The gate was too narrow.

In the nine some years since, we have enjoyed our new system. It is much quieter than the old. It's still pretty noisy, but that old system, each time it turned on, made an exploding noise like someone hit the metal ducts with a sledge hammer.

Friday a week ago: déjà vu. Acrid smoke smelling like burnt rubber poured out from the utility room. Disturbingly enough it did not trigger any smoke alarm. Fortunately, it was early morning when Shari and I are most active. Shari noticed it and grabbed me as I returned from walking Nazar the Wonder Dog. We were frantic. The water heater was smoking.

I rushed outside to the circuit breaker box, realized I needed reading glasses to decipher the electrician's handwritten labels, rushed back, couldn't identify the water heater circuit, and started guessing. I never did find it, but the smoke did stop. The stench lingered for days, but it stopped smoking.

I unscrewed the panels that cover the two heating elements, the one above with sensors and controls and the one below. It was the one above. It fried. The tank itself had failed. Probably the slight alkalinity of our Tucson water had eaten through the sheet metal and water had leaked into the surrounding insulating layer and filled it up all the way to the control box electronics which shorted and smoked and fizzled until it fried itself out. (And, thank God, tripped the circuit breaker. I just hadn't noticed.)

The good news was that July means summer in the Old Pueblo. This time of year, cold tap water isn't. It's quite tepid. So cold water showers are actually quite pleasant and refreshing.

The water heater replacement took place four days later. It took Jeff and Tracy six hours.

See, we have a solar panel on the roof that heats another circulating, heat absorbing fluid that is piped down into the utility room through a heat-exchange manifold that heats water circulating out from the water heater tank. When the sun is out, the water heater doesn't need to fire its electric heating elements. The solar system takes over.

A Borg. "Resistance is futile."

New water heater. "Vacation mode is futile."

What the solar-assist system means from an installation perspective is a lot of copper tubing. Our water heater doesn't look just like a water heater. It looks like a water heater that has been absorbed into the Borg collective. It has copper pipes all over the top — water out and back into the tank, gel from and back to the solar panel on the roof — the copper-clad heat exchange manifold itself, and the small pump and control panel that governs the solar gel circulation.

We kept the front door open so Jeff and Tracy could do their work and gather tools more easily. The indoor thermometer read ninety degrees.

They fabricated new copper piping to replace the old. The soldering produced enough smoke to trigger the smoke alarm. We got calls from both the fire department and Central Alarm. Well, at least we knew the alarm system worked.

After six hours of installation, Jeff showed us how the touch screen worked on the solar control box. To put it in vacation mode, tap up here, see the icon appear there, then tap down there three times (I kid you not) and the vacation mode icon appears here and you touch there to confirm. To turn off vacation mode, you do the same in reverse. His fingers seemingly raced over the panel like a teenager's two thumbs texting on a smart phone. After six hours of increasing owners' heat exhaustion, we didn't really need to know vacation mode.

We were more interested at looking at Tracy's and Jeff's smart phones. While Jeff was writing up the bill, Shari showed Tracy her paintings in the living room.  Turned out Tracy was an artist by training and avocation and a plumber only by necessity. He pulled out his smart phone. Turned out Jeff also painted. He pulled out his smart phone. Both showed us photos of their paintings. They were not only good, their styles were very original.