26-V-2025.
Everything as planned, I even got clean jeans, because she pulled out a whole heap from the archive, to sort out the wearables, recyclables (of which she already made a clutch bag, what with lining made out of one of my shirts, pocket already there, no need to sew it), these are dirty already. Also had this dialog:
- why do you wear those jeans [for] so long
- they're fine, comfortable, have color, no fault
- but there's that tiny hole on [the] knee
- that's how I tell them from the others
- and which are they
- those with a hole
So we took off to Vršac around ten. Despite my firm knowledge that it's 100km to there, it's actually 91, since I filled up on thursday and reset the counter so I had the exact count. It's probably so downtown to downtown, but we're at the Vršac edge of town here, and on their side the cemetery is on our side, so I'm no more than two blocks deep in town on both sides.
A funeral as funerals go, Jana's sons seem to manage, as far as I can see, got some jobs and there's someone to hold the fort, and there's a bride of sorts, a likable chubby, spitting image of Jana of younger years. Among them one confused lady with a crutch, short haircut, the kind of 12mm or less. First she asked whether we were from my granma's village, nope, Zrenjanin. Um, she may be their aunt, what do I know.
A funeral as funerals go, all those funerals in Vršac are the same, we know the drill by heart. The only difference is that the daća wasn't fasting*, i.e. instead of fish, the standard tavern čorba (i.e. not quite so, more akin to what she cooks, just not so clear) and some steaks, guess a krmenadla**, all excellent, including the poppy štrudle in the end. Once outside, the lady with the crutch leans on us again, thanks for coming, I called, found your landline number... Well, no, we were invited by Daca... And you're not from Obrenovac then? Nope, Zrenjanin, and there I explained whose grandchild I was. Ah, then I got confused, she said.
After the daća we went to Žarko's, as we scheduled already. We had to wait a while, because they had one more funeral right after this one, some uncle of his, and wife's grandmother died on thursday („what a lineup, you lose three people in two days“). So not to buzz around the cemetery until the second daća ends, we rather waited by their gate. Some twenty minutes, a beauty, sunshine but not too hot, light breeze, had I brought a blanket I'd have spread it right there on the lawn.
And then we heard the whole story. The cause of death was probably some embolia, she was alredy prone to that, and it just neatly fits with just dropping dead in the shower cabin. The larger problem was that she was so fat, and the older son is also a member of 100 club. They tried to force themselves to eat less but it didn't work. I asked whether the beginning of the problem may have been in uncle's always being a director somewhere, and the aunt also coming from a rich family. That's where they went into details, the aunt's father was making rakija by tons and sold it en gross, they were always loaded, a kilo of meat for a lunch was regular, and often they'd without any cause order a cake of 50 eggs and a kilo of butter. And then uncle died and they went into standalone life, continuing the life of drunken barons, borrowing from left and right, getting into various deals with banks to reprogam the accumulated debt and top that with some sum, which then didn't go into repaying the private debts but rather ordering more food... She did have a hunch that she may end like this, so at least she reassigned the house to her sons and kept all the debts in her name. They now own the house, by halves (and we thought they sold it but no, it's still the same address on some main thoroughfare, what with ajnfor and high ceilings), so that can't be taken away. She was 59.
Žarko's wife worked second shift, and the son was also at school in the afternoon, but at least we saw the daughters. They grew up nicely, the older is the first grade of chemical [high school] („the schedule is chaos, some lecturers work, some hold half hour classes, some are fully on strike, means it's quite colorful“) and she's already a chick and a half, and the little one will be soon, we wouldn't have recognized her out of context.
And the lady with the crutch is Jana's sister-in-law. Brother can't arrive before friday, he's in France, driving a truck. I didn't recognize her at all, because in all previous sightings she was the skinny bleached blonde with hair down to [her] kidneys and strangely wide hips for the meager weight of her. Daca said that she's ill of everything, I said she'll bury us all, the yellow keep yellowing(, the pink are traveling, the proverb says).
During the ride back, she spotted an obituary pasted on [the] gate in a village, she knew the house, it seems that Vlastimir finally tossed the spoon, can't be the wife, she's under the meadow since long ago.
On tuesday I got up really late, around 11, so no going to the market. At least I fiddled with the 3d graphic thingy in python, and it more or lest works except it doesn't show the curves :љ.
Around 18:30 we were already done with the barbecue, what with scrubbing the grille with wire brush, fanning the fire with a gas burner (can call it brener again ever since burning seedees is out of fashion). adding coal from the new sack and two person operation while roasting the ćevapčići. We learned that it requires permanent vigilance, don't keep the lid over it for longer than a minute. It passed quickly, and then the steaks (neck, as always) we roasted seemingly slowly, because it looked to me that the fire weakened, but nope, the thermometer doesn't lie. If it went down from 250 to 180, that's actually how it should be. From firing up to taking the last piece off the grill it was barely an hour. Came out perfect, both the ćevapčići and the steaks and the sausages.
Borče and Dragana came at the usual time. Everything was ready already. We drank the latest tutifruti, the 24.2b, i.e. the one which topped the second cask, and then the rest of it went into the second one, of 10l. They differ only in this one having some pumpkin in the mush. We didn't make the pure ludovača (wordplay - ludaja is the local word for pumpkin, and 'lud' means crazy), who knows how that would turn out. He extended his driver's licencse meanwhile, and did the medical checkup in „Zeleni talas“ (green wave, a driving school), where they allegedly check nothing, he even recounted having met a pal of his, who's some higher doctor, who said „I'm gone now to sign them all“, meaning he doesn't even look. This time they did a checkup on him, eyes and the rest, just no blood sample, as „we do that only to professionals, for diabetes“. The shrinkie lady attacked him, „your mouth is bent“, guess to provoke him, or to pass the time. They must be bored, the whole team is from Novi, they come here on saturdays for this tezga. All in all, the shrink wrote „one year, two max“, the general doctor extended that to three in the end. Well, we've come to that age when it becomes a major issue, how long will I be able to drive.
This is when I had to brag with my hunting, then we recounted the miracles performed by Branko, „not just sharpening the needles in dot matrix printers, he also had a way to extend them“.
Of rakija we had only two shots, it went slowly, even Borče didn't run for one extra, which he was doing regularly for the last year or two. Guess the doctors scared him a little. So the barbecue stuff was served as early as nine - and then we switch to wine. Of course I had to show the latest crop of grandchildren's photos, as well as a fresh video of Linda and Sanda perform another number on the bed - Linda standing in the middle, opening a poudriere (or whatever, fuck them Frenches and their spells) so it now served as spectacles, while Sanda danced around her.
The chat went the usual zig zag line, nothing memorable... my graduation playlist (in which I spawned a handful of Dragan Stojnić, via Nicotine, I know he's Dragana's weak spot) brought Zana and „Nastavnice“ (lady lecturers)... which I began commenting as a heap of incorrect stuff in the text, number one the verse „requires knowledge for education“, hello there, won't that be the other way round? And then the title, talks about gimnazija and mentions lecturers instead of professors. There Dragana said that officially the teachers in high schools are considered lecturers, them being called professors is just tradiion, yet the staff meeting is called 'lecturers' council', not professors'. There Borče took the floor and then for some ten minutes they spoke aloud and nobody else could have a say. I recorded some two-three minutes of that on my phone, and if some day, if ever, I really have nothing else to do, I may listen to it and even make an exact transcript here. When I finally got my turn, I said we were always the culture which „felt lively like fucking for“ (meaning didn't give a fuck for) official names of things, and the kids never adressed their teacher as „lecturer of class curriculum“, nor anyone ever said „suck my male sexual dick“. She said „you mean organ?“. Nope, the organ is a cop, though it turns out to be the same, it's of internal affairs. What's the organ of the exterior affairs then? Ambassador, I guess.
Wensday, 28th. Didn't feel like going anywhere, day to rest. Not that we overate last night, but even that much was too much. By evening talked with Lena, tried to teach Tanja to wave, nut nope, if it's something to do with hands, to her it means that she should clap, that one she knows. The fourth tooth is still not out, just barely, and two more are coming into view. They're late, late, and then come all at once. She asked Milan about that hawk, and yes, it was our pheasant that he saw. Explained whose funeral we attended, and she cut in with „was that the one with beans?“. There, you never know what you'll be remembered by.
Did the popravni in the evening, and celebrated it too. The youth does come by at times.
Thursday, doing nothing again, didn't feel like going to the garden, and better so, because another rain slapped down. And after sunday when the tropical heat presses on, we're fucked up. Friday, gonna rain ain gonna rain, not going either. At least I translated the preceding article. I keep thinking how nothing much is happening, and then I surprise myself with the hefty length of a ten day review, with a bunch of connecting dates.
Saturday. The protest being on sunday, we tumbled the schedule, to Belgrade we went today, and to busodrom tomorrow, where there'll be a blockade from 18 to 21, as in thirty other cities as well. These trips already have their own repeating scenario. This time Tanja was still asleep when we came, so I had time to visit the kitchen terrace and shoot a few landscapes, how's that construction between the Hyatt and former Intercontinental progressing. Seems a bit uncanny how all those cranes and concrete pumps (quite different from abstract pumps) simply work, because for weeks I keep watching them videos where they fall, drop, the bulkheads give and cubics of concrete pour downstairs...
We lunched at a different tavern this time, went to the other end of SIV into the L pti bistro, which is a ridiculous neme, the bistros were always small, hole-in-the-wall, and there's the 'petit' in the name on top of it, so it should have four tables, of which two are on the sidewalk. But not this one, ten tables outside and thirty inside. The weather was perfect for a stroll, the winter was weak and dragged itself all the way down to 30th of may, and the summer began on 31st. The spring passed overnight.
The waiter still a bit of a rookie, doesn't know the whole menu by heart. The other waiter just had to come to pet Api a little. The grub, so-so, costs half more than elsewhere, the čorba standard, a bit soured with cream, and the beaf pohovano that I took „with aromatic butters“ wasn't bad, except it was pohovano the restaurant way, flour egg breadcrumbs egg breadcrumbs, i.e. three layers of poh and 4mm of meat, not too bad but it was fried a bit tougher so the edges didn't cut easily, and them aromas, kidding me, one was pulling toward some sort of tartar sauce with some excess taste, and the butter was with some grains of gorgonzola or whatever, exactly pulling on american blue cheese, the schrödingerian „did I already puke or was that next“ aftertaste, so I moved both aside and ate the rest. Not bad, just wouldn't repeat. She took some ćevap in kajmak, passed me two and they weren't bad, ours were better, but I don't see any good reason to add garlic to them, this is not Romania. Lena had salmon, where then there was a problem with the covering sauce containing cream, which goes counter her current diet (the downphase of her thyroid gland), still shouldn't have anything dairy... then waiter appologized for not asking, and she for not warning him, stalemate. Tanja had her fill, of all the čorba, ćevapčići and salmon, I shot thirty good [ones] just during her lunch, with the new teeth visible, including the fourth, which is still not out, just visible through the gum skin, any day now. The price didn't matter, she learned the ropes and all this goes to her office account, takes the cash receipt, sends the image of the bill to her accountant, this is tax deductible. Specially anything they spend on Api, it's security cost, he's the office dog. Not a grain to the enemy. And at work some cash came in from the same investors, with which the company weighs a billion already, and her stock, should she exercise her options and buy her share for some 200K€, would be worth a million. As Milan said, „another year or two and we can retire“. In about three weeks she's off to Kopenhagen, it'll be interesting to see how he'll manage. Stojan also promised to come and babysit Tanja in the evenings. I explained that it will probably be raining in Kopenhagen (v. 24-VII-1973.).
On the walk back took a few good shots of the writing on the wall, the 'no ćaci' sign, „thou shalt not dig“, „pump it!“. I tried the rear approach to Mere, through the (new) industrial zone. A bit confusing the first time, I know the way by shape but the distances are confusing... but it's great, no traffic at all and it's a small percentage shorter. In Mere that girl who used to work in Persu, remembered the twins and asked about them. On their gutter again pasted ads „house 100m2 for the Chineses, 12 beds“.
Sunday afternoon, first of june, I even catnapped (napped a cat? can it be said that way?) after lunch (the rest of overyester's čorba, minute steaks i.e. thin pohovano chicken breast, what the girls called 'flat chicken'), then slowly walked to the protes, it being nearby, at the busodrom. Shooting along the way I failed to notice the company sitting under a shade roof in a yard being Chineses, but she recognized them by the sound of the language, we learned that much so far.
First it seemed we came too early, as if there was nobody around; then it turned that it comes here by 18:30 (so we were quarter of an hour too early), when the mass arrives from Žitni. On Lidl's parking a couple of cars with orderlies, unloading water, the „studenstka“ (they left the typo on the labels, should be „studentska“) in big totes. There's no forklift, this is not the gov't organizing spontaneous paid support to itself. Three cops on the city side of the roundabout still letting the traffic pass. Some older lady acting as wannabe kindergarten teacher, tries to talk the hundred of us, from the area, the ad hoc welcoming committee, to take over the crossing right away. I asked the cop girl when will they close, „when the column from town comes“, ah okay. We found us a spot on the fence in front of Srbijagas. I gave her the whistle, my lungs don't blow too well, I'll rather make shots.
The column was indeed impressive. A smattering of bikers and not one tractor, not as it was in february, but all the same, it was 4-5 meters wide and almost a kilometer long. And very noisy. Few good slogans - the old one from march, „Zrenjanin is not and won't be Ćacigrad“, now reduced from a walker to a movie poster size; „how I like it when Lalas pump it (go into dad's [dick])“ we already saw a couple of times, new one „because of you our country became vukojebina.com (wolffuckland)“ and a cartoon of Nemanja Šarović (KTV). Plus the deja vu banners of local communities - ours, Dolja/Crni Šor, couple more I didn't quite see, the place where we stood was a bit lower. The flags... a dozen state, the mandatory Ferrari flag (though probably not the legendary one which made it to Strazbur, must be someone here has one), and one of Metallica.
Then Čarga and his wife came along, so we chatted a while. Asked for any news about aunt Milica, nope, she said, had no contact with the village. I recounted how we heard nothing in Vršac, nobody knows a thing, and uncle's kin in the village know nothing of me, they always drove her to dad's, the connections brooke, may as well consider her deceased and not knowing since when. They went off to buzz around, and we spotted Joška, so talked with him next. This time he was without his wife, though, said he may call her to drive him back, if he doesn't feel like walking home. He's still year and a half short of retirement, he's paying some but thinks of just declaring himself unemployed and so gain the missing staž, because the photography drips [cash] less and less. Their son is in Celje, near the end of specialization, not the surgery though, but for gas jockeying, pretty much the hypnotiser of chemical persuasion.
We took the bottle of water when the orderlies gave them away, it served us well and was good. We signed the petition for the water, demanding the city to clearly declare the new water as potable or not. Though, we somehow liked the old one better, despite being yellow for the iron as we grew with it (on it), and as for the arsenic, the amount used to be legal, and it does create immunity. We left Joška and went for a stroll around, and five meters later stumble upon the A.Z. (of IV1, the sister of the Z. from the club). At first I recognized her but then didn't, did look like her but the hair was not the glorious silky helmet (07-II-2019.), so I took another stride away when she recognized me. Greeted each other humanely, chatted a little, and then decided to walk home, we're a bit too old to stand for three and a half hours, walking we wouldn't mind, that'd be easier. So we sat on a žardinjera (flowerbox, concrete), to have another smoke. There comes Čarga again, alone this time, with a military beret on [his] head. Says he's also a veteran, was at Vukovar, says this is weak, there are 1400 veterans in town and only a couple of dozen shou up for protests, hundred at best. And the guys from The Service he recognizes from afar, no matter what disguise, you always know an udbaš by his moves.
In the evening we talked with our Seattleians, until almost one in [the] morning. That guy is finally coming to take the fourrunner Toyota, which waits for half a year, didn't requre much work, just replaced the timing belt, good business, just the wait for payment took so long. Anita demonstrated the chocolate with wrapper which Neša printed. We saw the whole garden again, how things grow, there'll be some good artichoke...
The we stayed until three to finish the remainder of the tutifruti, which means I got at 11 on monday. After lunch we went to Klincaid. She picked a kilo of cherries from the street - some trees bore well, some not at all, I guess there'll be a bucket or two eventually. Of the cherries there was a total of two handfuls (from just one tree, zero on other four), which we took home and ate sparingly over the week. The kilo of cherries, however, went into a pie, her special kind that she started making last year, with gibanica crust (aka filo dough) interspersed with a mix of mufljuz (v. house dictionary) type of dough, just more watery and with farina. Ate that until saturday.
I got nothing done, because the starter on the švorceniger croaked, the pull string disbraided and the handle fell off. Perhaps I could fix it, but then by the time I put together the tools, picked the right size hex (as I'd have to take out the spare rope from the first one, still there, keep it for parts), well fuck that, next time I'll drive the van and take the gadget to be repaired. At least I stacked some of the hay from the main path and at the shed, taking good care not to stick the pitchfork into the hose. Dropped by Svetofor on the way back to get fish for tomorrow (the pangasius, when unfrozen, loses about 50% of its weight, all water). She bought a frying pan, enth so far. The first tefloner from 1977 held for seven years, and in this century none last more than two.
Finished reading Reynolds's Prefect.2, moved to 3... until half three. He knows how to write, truth be told. In spider solitaire we reached 16,9% for this year.
The scorcher began. On friday we still turned on the aycee to warm us up, even for just that half an hour in the evening, on wensday we turned it on to cool. Hard to get used to it, this is somehow too fast, don't even feel like going to the garden, specially as I'd need to wash the van a little, to bring the švorceniger. It could fit in Joda but its seats are white, though there's a sheath on top of front seats, still don't want to spoil it. In the van I can neatly stick it into šaraglje. At least on thursday, later in the day when the front of the house is in shade, we took out the tall ladder and picked the cherries. What little it bore is large. And mushy... we cleaned the one branch that's house side, tossed away half of it. What the starlings didn't pick, was spoilt by the rains. Too bad.
I took some time to check the „Vučić eats baloney“. And no, even though I found Fonet's complete video of 4:38, it still not doesn't have a single frame where he even puts it in his mouth. At one moment Toma Mona and Mali each hold three quarters of their sandwiches, they each bit off that much, while he's still talking. A second later, they ate their way to the last quarter, while he's left about two bites. Worse, watching it over and over, one can clearly see that the baloney they put on the table isn't cut at all, they're taking slices out of a box, which may be baloney or maybe not, and isn't that cheap brand they touted.
Poured a cherry on friday, to honor the half kilo we picked. They are nice, the ones we didn't discard, though not even close to last year's. Those were both good for eating, and made good brandy.
„I have no dilemma at all that the regime is finished and it's presently only about the amount of damage they'll leave“ - Guta Grubački of Zeleno zvono.
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* by christian orthodox definition of fasting days, no meat except fish, plus a few other limitations.
** once I was amazed with this word, as „krme“ is one of the serbian words for hog (can't be anything but, what with r doing work of a vowel), and -nadla sounds like a typical german suffix. Found that it's a mangled 'carbonada'. From the pair of big muscles around the pig's spine.
Mentions: 24-VII-1973., 07-II-2019., Aleksandar Zarin, Anita Jennifer Berger (Anita), Api, aunt Milica, Branko Glumač, čorba, ćevapčići, daća, Dragana Vitas (Dragana), gibanica, gimnazija, house dictionary, Jelena Sredljević (Lena), Joda, Joška Apro, kajmak, Klincaid, KTV, Linda Sredljevich Aquilla (Linda), Mališa Borkovski (Borče), Milan Nastić, Nenad Berger (Neša), Novi Sad, pohovano, popravni, rakija, Sanda Sredljević Aquilla (Sanda), staž, Stojan Nastić, švorceniger, Tanja Nastić, tezga, tutifruti, udbaš, Velemir Prokin (Čarga), Vlastimir Uvalić, Zeleno zvono, Žarko Zarin, Žitni, in serbian
26-V-2025 - 25-III-2026