Annette’s music

Annette is a violin teacher and a student of mine.  The CDs she gave me yesterday are exquisite.  They bring back memories of my father.  He was my antagonist, and I was an exceptionally nasty daughter.  Didn’t even know how much I loved him while he lived.

I know this is a blog about dead languages and how to crack them, but I just feel like posting this.  When I listen to music he loved, I tend to cry. 

My dad was a writer by heart who supported us by being an engineer.  He published several books, one of which is titled “Camping in the Living Room.”  When Jude and I bought our tent, we pitched it in our living room and camped there for a couple of days – in memory of Christo.  Man, I wish he knew how much I love him.

After he died, my mom found some poetry in his secret drawer.  One of the poems reads:

Shte te dochakam, kusno moe lyato,/ranna esen, utrinna duga,/shte te dochakam, no sila ne ostana/v moyata protegnata ruka…

This poem breaks my heart.  I’ve made several futile attempts at translating it.

I am by far tougher than Christo.


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