Now we can celebrate, Baca

But first this: In an attempt to provide my One-Minute Memoir, I overlooked the fact that I’d have to pay for my life.

There is no way somebody will make me pay for my creativity. I mean, if I can’t get others to pay me, for sure no way in hell I’ll pay somebody else for making me create and submit what I’ve created.

The same goes for photographers who at first provide free photo feedback to their followers but then slowly start dropping hints that it’s time we start paying them back for their generosity.

How much should I charge for each door that I show you? For every nutria? Jumping dog? Grinning mom?

This is not to say that I have any bad blood with the organisers of the One-Minute Memoir challenge, even though they failed to mention the paying part in their announcement. Obviously this is how it’s done over there.

So I had to add another list to my Trello (thanks, Dan!) next to “To do”, “Doing” and “Done”. It says “Changed my mind”.

Good thing that I only just started writing my memoir before this discovery and not finished it, or I’d be much pissier. But since I’ve started it, let me finish it here on my blog. And then I can pay myself a gelato for every word.

Oh, and if somebody wishes to make their own, bummer. The deadline runs out today.

They were looking for “ultra-flash nonfiction of 100-150 words”. Here are mine.

Let’s see how much 150 words really is:

Yugoslavia, Slovenia. Seventies starting.
Ljubljana mother+Maribor father=child, baaam!
First in wide family. Little miracle.
Still recovering from not being one.

Two loving grandparent couples.
Father’s father: stern but win-overable. I learn.
Father’s mother: handy elegance.
Mother’s father: determined joker.
Mother’s mother: opera lover.

Kindergarten: bastards withhold water.
School: sick first year.
Ooh! Sister!
Education = oppression.
Puberty, boooo.
Basketball, yeah!
Seaside, soothing.
First loves.
Sarajevo Olympics.

New school.
Spanish.
Females.
Too ambitious.
Looking bad in comparison.
Finally finished.

Studies. University.
English / Journalism.
Four years. Didn’t finish.
No motivation.

Slovenia’s independence.
Ten-day war.

Half-Italian boyfriend. Italian school.
Living together. Five years.
Later, freedom.
Greece, Peugeots.
Vienna life.
Concerts, sister.
Romania visits.

NATO attacks Serbia.
Dogs found.
Three raised.
Žak, the saviour.

Enters ex.
Card tournaments.
Thirteen years and gone.

Now Tuscany.
For life.

So many words!

Could have done it in fewer.

In the gallery today, the city of my paternal grandmother whose birthday is today. Alas, her husband, my stern grandfather, died on this day too, many years before her, so she never celebrated it after that. Imagine that. The photos were taken last summer when we raided Maribor, the second biggest Slovenian city, for one day. Don’t worry, grandma, now we can celebrate all together.

The first Maribor street we saw. Funny because in Ljubljana our street has the same name. Once I lied to a friend that it was named after Tina Turner. He bought it. Sorry, Tomaž. 😀

Lavender and animals.

Happy bar.

Kalvarija hill.

Father’s trademark gesture. It was his mom’s too. Something isn’t to be found.

But he would find this in his dreams. Ilich ice-cream parlour. He was already coming here for sweets when still in high school.

Franciscan Basilica of Our Mother of Mercy.

Only in Slovenia: A memorial to Donkey’s Corner, an old get-together-and-gawk place.

The board says that in this place the first electric light-bulb in this part of Europe came to life in 1883. A hand added: “Light up and shine in style.”

Some more style.

Father’s old workplace: Večer daily newspaper where he again publishes one column per month.

Love cats.

Gosposka Street. You continue down here…

…and you reach my grandma’s place on Glavni trg.

To the right, the old bridge over the Drava.

To its right, the Casino. At least it used to be. I’ve never been though, not a fan.

Anton Martin Slomšek, Slovenian bishop, poet and advocate of Slovenian culture back when it was not a given.

Amore is apprehensive.

Hands-on.

Shot unaware. (Photo: BM)

Yes, the sheriff is back in town.