On the death of cousin Paweł

As this note is automatically posted I am about to depart from Jelenia Góra back to Warsaw after my cousin’s funeral held yesterday. I learnt about his sudden death on Thursday evening, yet I was not shell-shocked…

Paweł died aged 43 on Tuesday, 23 January 2024. He was survived by a mother, a wife and two children.

He was the only son of Ciocia Asia, my mother’s cousin who I first met in 2009. During that holidays we also got to know Paweł, his wife Agnieszka and their daughter (aged 4 then). Around that time despite the distance between our part of the family, the relationship got quite intense. In November 2013 Wujek Mietek, Ciocia Asia’s husband, died from cancer. Soon after the second child of Paweł and Agnieszka was born and they bought a plot near Jelenia Góra and built a house there.

I last visited them in their still newly-built home in June 2019. With Ciocia Asia I last met last March, during late-winter skiing holidays.

In early January 2024 Paweł’s wall on Facebook was crying for help. Online I found out Agnieszka threw him out of their house and they were about to divorce. I was distasted by him washing their dirty linen in public. I remember talking to my mother and fearing he would take an unwanted ultimate step in his despair. My mother talked to Ciocia Asia last week. Paweł was home down with COVID-19.

On Thursday evening Agnieszka posted an obituary on her facebook profile. My first thought was he had taken away his life. Paweł was a well-known teacher and a sport coach in Jelenia Góra so the news on his departure were published in local news sites. Reading some of the comments made me want to puke… Anonymous people either blamed his wife or asked how many time he had been vaccinated. In order to cut out all the speculations, Agnieszka informed on the heart attack as a cause of death. The problem with the heart was most probably an aftermath of a car accident Paweł had had in November 2023, during which the airbags did not go off. Since that time he had only stronger pains in his chest and took only stronger painkillers. Most probably his heart did not resist increasing dosage of medicines, COVID-19 and the divorce-related stress.

I feel terribly sorry for Ciocia Asia, for Paweł’s daughter, aged 18, who will be taking high-school leaving exams in May and his son, aged nearly 10. They are now experiencing a triple trauma – caused by the divorce, the sudden death and people gossiping on the suicide as the cause of death.

Fate and justice at times go separate ways. Balancing at the edge of chaos sometimes involves having a brush on death and getting carried away...

Early June, southern Poland

Good to be home after spending over a week in different venues in the hilly southern part of my homeland. First five days in Wisła; the timing of our stay was not haphazard. We turned up to my girlfriend’s second home to take part in the third “Granatowe Góry” – JerzyPilch Festival, a series of (mostly) open-air lectures, discussion panels, workshops and concerts. Despite not being a culture freak, I picked out thought-provoking events from a rich agenda (usually four events taking place at the same time) and appreciated them.

As I dwell on his works and biography, I discover Mr Pilch as a controversial and enthralling figure. He appeared in the spotlight late, in the early 1990s, after turning 35. Written-word-wise, he could boast a superb skill of building long-drawn-out, complex sentences, in which no word is useless and which do not let a reader lose track of the thread. He deftly and humorously painted ordinary events and spiced ordinary places with magic. On the other hand, he was an outright sexist and misogynist. His most renowned book, “Pod mocnym aniołem” being a brutal record of how low an alcohol addict can stoop, has been an inspiration for a film of the same title. As a male, he had several more of less fleeting relationships with women. Towards the end of his life, he married a poet quite probably younger than me, who stayed with him until the end of his days (in which Parkinson disease kept him company). Currently I presume the widow has an affair with Jerzy Baczyński, chief editor of “Polityka” weekly.

I must say I have little understanding for romantic relationships with age gap higher than a generation (in the aforementioned example the age difference is roughly 40 years). I could not even imagine myself, aged 35, going out with a woman aged 25. Folks claim if a younger woman falls in love (if it is indeed love) with a much older man, money has to be in stake. In Pilch’s case, this could not have been the case, as he never earned a lot and quickly parted with his income. Besides, as an alcoholic, he lacked some of the crucial makings of a reliable life companion.

Customarily, the festival attendees were also my girlfriend’s parents, which involved living under one roof with them for five days and nights (we slept in a living room). With hindsight, I was over-optimistic with respect to how smoothly we would get on with one another. The stay went without spats, but being positioned as a guest in a place I am familiar with and where I make myself at home was a kind of uncomfortable. The unease was felt with my girlfriend’s parents, who had an intruder in the flat in which her father grew up.

What I had to put up with were… rituals (as a person afflicted with mild Asperger syndrome I detest them) and the fact the life revolved around eating. I confess I eat to deliver nutrients to my body, minding healthiness of my diet, but do not take much pleasure in consumption. Participating frequently in rituals related to eating or drinking was a misery to me, a waste of time, energy and money (not mine, yet any). I have recently realised I am not fond of celebrating. I realise why it is important to people and for social reasons I take part in celebrations, but do not cherish them as most people do.

As we were leaving for Bieszczady, I felt a deep relief. The weather during the Corpus Christi weekend was not quite fine (lots of rainfall), but made the most of clement mornings and early afternoons wandering past Połoniny, at times above clouds and relaxed indoors during afternoons. On our way back we made a stopover in Lublin, my first ever visit to the city and hopefully not the last one.

My home, my place on earth

Home… not just a place where you reside in but where you celebrate the important moments. Children who fly the nest usually return to their parents’ for Christmas, Easter and other festivals, but only once they raise their own home, they can invite their nearest and dearest to their place. For such reasons, but also to express my gratitude for their aid during the protracting remont, I invited my parents over to celebrate Easter in my new flat.

My parents refused to let me prepare all the stuff and we shared the culinary duties – they brought a vegetables salad and a cake, while I handled the rest. The run-up to the Easter weekend was a nightmare at work (I counted 63 hours worked between Monday 8 a.m. and Friday 3 p.m. with any overtime pay being a Loch Ness Monster), so I was frazzled by the time I set off to cook stuff (fortunately had done most of the shopping in advance). On Thursday, late in the evening, deep under water, I began regretting taking up the task, but eventually I have not given up on the culinary adventure. With hindsight, the satisfaction from playing host to mum and dad was worth it. I could not lose the faith since the place I live in resonates with so much positive energy that it lifts my spirits every time adversities try to get me down.

The very vicinity of my flat is a magical area (the dream dated 2014 coming true, though not as a detached house), at this time of year a marvellous hangout to take a break after lousy time at work.

Just a few snaps from spots located less than a mile from home. A view atop of Górka Kazury, a shot taken on Saturday, an hour before sunset. After scrambling up the hill, one can enjoy views of Ursynów and Las Kabacki splaying out. Sadly, the place in the evening is chock full of visitors, so not the perfect place to contemplate the eternal in solitude.

A pond in Moczydło, on the other side of the Warsaw Underground’s technical track, just on the verge of Las Kabacki. On sunny weekends the place is full or locals. Today before midday few visitors were in sight.

Back to a snap from yesterday’s evening stroll. This is ul. Perkalowa, being actually a beaten dirt track, looking east towards inhabited parts of Natolin and Kabaty. Few people around and fortunately none of them is the legend of the area, Pan Leszek Wojciech, a homeless (allegedly mentally ill) guy one of the vagrant men who have built their huts in the local shrubs and is said to be dangerous to individuals who roam around.

To the right, a photo taken nearly in the same place, looking west against the sun. Trees, copse, sky, nothing else. A venue seemingly untouched by civilisation, yet a mile away from an underground station. Ursynów, I have fallen in love with you!

Ul. Moczydłowska, today’s pic taken while returning from a walk with my parents. The alley has a status of a living street and takes one directly to Las Kabacki (and will serve me in coming months primarily as a route to my parents whom, weather permitting I will be visiting by bike.

This is yet another year when I strengthen my conviction the last decade of April when most trees are in blossom and greenery bursts out for good is the beautiful season of the year. Let the moment last and let’s make the most of it before it’s gone!

Grandpa

My paternal grandfather was born on 17 May 1926 in Skolimów (currently Konstancin-Jeziorna), where he spent most of his childhood. Shortly before WW2 his family moved to Warsaw. Unlike his two older brothers who died in the uprising, along with his sister (died in December 2017) and brother (died in December 2010) fled Warsaw in 1943 to the rural area where he had been born.

Shortly after the war he met my grandma; they got married in October 1948. He worked in the paper factory in Jeziorna for nearly his entire adult life. In his free time he bred pigeons and was a football fan of Legia Warszawa.

After the departure of my grandma he found it hard to shake off, yet remained in relatively good (as for his age) mental and physical health until early 2018. Since early August he was bedridden, ate and drunk very little.

Grandpa passed away last night, aged 92. He was my longest-living ancestor and the last grandparent alive. Hopefully at least he suffers no more.

No man is an island

While the whole world pretends to be an endless ocean, through which humans sail, lacking direction.

First such Easter. I spent over twenty previous ones either at my grandparents’ until my grandma was fit enough to prepare Easter breakfast for around ten guests, or, then, at my aunt and uncle’s. Over the last year bonds within the family have further loosened, fuelled by argument between my father and his brother over the duty of looking after my grandpa. Without going into details, everyone spends this day at home alone; a circumstance which spares all parties stress, insincere smiling, inevitable disputes, mutual taunting and other nasty stuff. Instead I get a modest breakfast with my parents only and plenty of free time to take a precious break from work. Unfortunately, the weather is not conducive to outdoor activities which I long to enjoy; had Easter fallen two weeks ago, over+20C temperature and sunshine would have lifted my spirits in the festive season rather on an usual weekend.

This makes me ponder upon the pain threshold linked to days when families traditionally meet up. Some prefer to spend such days on their own, others strain to endure family gatherings even if they do not belong to pleasant events. The choice depends on the extent to which you feel good in your own company. For some loneliness means sadness, for others freedom. For the former being hurt by fellow men is the price to pay to avoid loneliness. If somebody asked me about my preference, I would answer I opt for loneliness. This is the theory, while actual events prove my answer could be my wish rather than preference.

Remember the story of one toxic relationship I had just given up? Do you realise how many times I was breaking it up “forever” after that post? Not that many, but the upshot is that I have gotten even more involved in it, though I seem to be keeping my distance, aware how emotionally draining it is. I have lost some self-respect for keeping this going, but I realise the dead-end delusion I am stuck in is the price to pay for having somebody who at times shows care and interest.

Oddly enough, while being stuck in the toxic mire, I have not stopped looking for opportunities to get involved in a normal relationship for a single moment. The endeavours have however, led me to the conviction that getting married and having children one day is just an option, not a certainty coming into life in unknown future. Don’t get me wrong, I am now just talking about taking things for granted, just like many happy spouses do not take for granted they will grow old with their partners just because fate brings accidents and illnesses to pull people apart. If finding self-fulfilment in being a husband and father might be out of reach for reasons beyond my control (more about in next paragraphs) then I should strive to seek other stuff (other than work-related, though job should give at least satisfaction, but being too committed to it, or even addicted is a trap) that would bring me happiness achievable on my own only. The bar is raised high, since except for my parents, I practically have no family and because my all long-lasting and newly-made friendships are with people who either have families or are in long-lasting relationships, therefore I cannot reckon on anybody to be a greater part of any plan.

Why the odds to get my life arranged happily have statistically decreased? If you were to answer the questions, most likely you would claim that…

1. With time I have grown more demanding and few women can meet my requirements. I would argue with time I have grown aware of what I definitely do not want and unlike one friend of mine thought, I do not have a picture of what the ideal girl would be like, but I know which traits I would not put up with. I want a normal girl, who would not be selfish, greedy, materialistic, insincere, not straightforward, judge book by the cover, think end justifies the means, etc. Maybe that’s still too much to ask.

2. Statistically, most women of my age are already in relationships and it is not a coincidence usually those deserving the most attention are already taken. This is called a natural selection – males are not stupid and once they have grabbed a sensible female they take the effort not to let her go. There is also the secondary market, yet as I observe the divorced women around if I were their husband, I would hurry to divorce them too ;-)

3. Opportunities to meet somebody are less frequent than before finishing studies. In fact workplace (and events associated therewith such as business travels, conferences, workshops and parties) is the main place where I meet new people and stay in their company long enough to get to know them good enough to lay foundations to build a closer relationship. Sometimes after one or two chats with a woman I realise she is worth getting to know her better, but realise the paths we tread have very little chance to cross again. The only chance to keep up getting to know each other is then simply to ask a woman out (otherwise I lose it), which means showing at least of a bit of interest in her. Many times this has turned out to be a step too far, yet worth taking, since otherwise I would have been kicking myself for wasting an opportunity.

At the certain age, as one develops habits and gets accustomed to independence offered by living on one’s own, making concessions being in a relationships involves looms as stepping out of the comfort one. Also tolerance for other people’s habits declines. Some time ago I though women reach that stage of life after they turn around 35. My observations from recent months fill me with (some degree of) confidence such perception of relationships with men develops with many girls around the age of 25 (horrifying).

The very belief there are many single women and nearly as many single men therefore they should pair up and the problem of sad singles will be gone is a fallacy, since it fails to take into account the structural mismatch between highly demanding and independent single women and single men simply afraid of them. Anyone who advises me to stop bleating and look around since there are plenty of single women in the world may read the below…

1. The stereotypical exorbitant requirements women allegedly set towards men (should be tall, handsome, well-built, well-travelled, have a good job, earn a lot, have his own flat and a car, dress stylishly, read books, be caring and resourceful and so on and so forth) are as I notice, not far cry from reality and oddly enough deter those men who meet majority of requirements, but are simply afraid women would not accept their imperfections and hold back. Frankly speaking I am also wary when I meet a woman who apparently waits for a knight on a white horse.

2. A woman who has been single for a few years is usually too habituated to freedom being single offers to her that she is unwilling to give up on it. Building a relationship is a matter of give and take, a person who wonders whether to benefits of being with somebody outweigh the costs should make a mature decision. I theoretically respect such decisions, although when some two months ago I heard from a girl with who I had broken the ice that the relationship would take away from her the freedom she cherished and actually she was not yet ready for a relationship, my instant reply was that being in a relationship does not deprive one of freedom and with each next day she would be even less ready for a relationship.

3. Coming to that point, readiness to let another person into one’s orderly little world declines with age. After years of being single, starting a relationship means a huge and abrupt exit from the comfort zone. I realise this sounds absurdly, as this is definitely not a description of the utterly pleasant state of falling in love. I would point out the fear of being pushed out of the comfort zone, the fear of losing control (falling in love is about getting carried away by emotions, isn’t it) keeps a tight rein on some single women’s emotions and does not let them reach the point when they have a crush with a man.

The theme of comfort zone brings to my mind two other observations. Firstly, I know women younger than me desperately hold on to their partners, no matter how imperfect they are and now little they care, out of pure fear of loneliness and not finding anyone better. Secondly, I heard many women aged over thirty telling me if their husbands died, they would remain widows until the end of their days, since they have grown so intolerant of men’s drawback that they would be reluctant to learn to live with someone new and all his habits and shortcomings.

If you have reached the very end, so probably think now I am totally downtrodden, grumpy and acrimonious, lacking hope and faith. Maybe, but today I am exercising my right to feel down and by sharing my sorrows with you I help them get them off my chest, I set myself free of them and distance myself from them. Besides, it saves my today’s mood for posterity, so it does what blogging is all about, just like a year ago, when a similar plea was posted in the eve of a breaking point…

Keep on hoping a for a brighter tomorrow! :-)))))

Selling the car

As in early September my plans of relocating to another European capital went down the drain, it became clear I would still need a car in Poland and thus no longer on hold was my parents’ decision to upgrade to brand-new Megane IV and donate their current Megane III to me. Actually, it was not the desire to possess a new model which has just crossed factory gates that drove their decision. It was rather their concern about the condition of my over 13-year-old car and its imminent unreliability, cost and hassle related to it. I did not care I drove an old car and actually was reluctant to change it before buying and arranging a flat, so my parents, mindful of it, communicated they had ordered the car and expected me to take their current vehicle…

As the date of picking up the new car drew nearer (it is due before the next weekend), I had to post an advertisement in the Internet. I cleaned the car inside (one man-hour), washed the bodywork, rubbed dry and snapped the car (another man-hour) and put up a notice on the most popular automobile classifieds service in Poland, stating I wanted to sell a car:

- bought in a Polish dealership and serviced there ever after,

- garaged and having history of no accidents nor prangs,

- kept in one family since brand-new,

- with five-digit mileage (in kilometres) despite advanced age (and recent frequent longer trips).

The first call came (literally) from the other side of the fence. My neighbours, who were looking for a car, immediately spotted the ad less than two hours since I had published it and knowing everything written in the advertisement was true. My first thought was they were stalking me, but then I put faith in coincidence, but grew resistant to seeing my car changing hands to somebody I know (not a friend, yet somebody I know). I openly expressed my inhibitions to them, yet they insisted we met on Saturday. They did insist. First call was from brother-in-law of my neighbours’ daughter, the next from their daughter, who would use the car. On top, the neighbour came to my father to reserve the car.

The string of phone calls from other potential buyers was a travesty. The most quaint questions they asked were the following:

“Is everything you have written in the advertisement true?”

“Why are you selling the car?” (My response: “Because I finally want a brand-new”)

“How serious are the scratches on the bodywork?” (My response: “Just come and see and I will tell you the story of each of them”)

“Has it ever been smoked inside?” (My response: “Come and sniff”).

A few buyers were arranged to turn up yesterday in the afternoon, while I agreed to meet with the neighbours around 10 a.m. The conversation was quite frank. They told they realised a car of such age would require next repairs, I spoke out about my hang-ups and then confessed which parts of the car are most worn-out and most likely to break down in the coming future. I also took them for a ride to show the car runs like a clockwork. I thought I would deter them by claiming the interest from buyers does not convince me to get into haggling over the steep asking price (some 30 – 40% higher than average for a Megane II produced in 2003). It did not work. Just like other serious potential buyers they preferred to pay more than to buy a pig in a poke. Finally we agreed on handover of the car and the money on Tuesday evening, ahead of two days off which I take to handle (plenty of) formalities and to pick up the new car together with my father. I called off other buyers scheduled to show up in the afternoon.

As I write it I am not seriously convinced selling the car to somebody I know is a good step, yet in a situation in which they found the ad and got in touch with me, they could also take serious umbrage if I refused to sell them the car. I have chosen the lesser of two evils I was facing. I did not conceal anything from them, so I theoretically I should have no remorse. My main fear is that in the hands of someone who is learning to drive and who will almost certainly not look after the car as I did, the vehicle is more likely to pack up sooner than later…

A farewell to my first car, mine for over five years, marks an end of era of demonstrating being aesthetic (giving up a car has been out of question, not even because I find driving convenient, but because I find it pleasurable). In a financial industry, whose employees tend to show off their wealth, a guy who chooses to drive a car whose market value does not differ much from his monthly salary makes people wipe their eyes in astonishment. However more often they were amazed at the car’s condition which justified why I found it practical to possess it.

While staying indifferent to any sort of prestige associated with possessing a newer car, the upgrade brings two reasons to be cheerful: the new(er) car will be more friendly to my wallet and environment (fewer repairs in the coming years, lower petrol consumption and gas emission) and will give me more comfort, since probability of breakdown (and subsequent legwork and expenses) is also lower.

No more posts on this. I have driven this car several times, took in for three longer trips, know what the driving impressions will be. Megane IV is also a nice car, I had a test drive and I must say its only major drawback is that it could do with a larger engine that 1.2 litres 130 hp turbocharged engine, kind of too downsized for a compact car.

An intensive week ahead, take care!

Warsaw, from guests’ perspective

Skipped last week’s piece of blogging to look after my family (aunt, cousin and his wife) from Jelenia Góra who came for a few days to Warsaw. Heedless of political correctness, I confess living under one (especially one’s own) roof with a few people you meet once in two or three years is a nuisance. Yet, we all endured it without major clashes and their visit egged me on sightseeing trips through Warsaw and around I would not take in such number without third-party incentive.

They arrived on Saturday (over a week ago) before noon by Pendolino. For no apparent reason they chose to go by train, though door-to-door journey is shorter and less costly (for an equivalent of three adult ticket from Jelenia Góra to Warsaw they could buy petrol to come to Warsaw and drive back home.

On Saturday, after unpacking and lunch we set off to Prażmów where several of our common ancestors are buried. We visited their graves, burnt candles and I took the opportunity to discover areas of cemetery I had never ventured into, despite dropping in on there twice or three times a year. To the right, one of such places, a plaque commemorating local insurgents who fought in January Uprising.

On Sunday morning the relatives refused to sit back on a terrace and relax, so I had to take them for a longer stroll to Piaseczno. We inspected the reconstruction of ul. Wojska Polskiego. The scope of works is anything but overwhelming. The street will not be widened, but new asphalt will be laid, new pavements and parking spots built, two new pedestrian crossings marked out.

The major gain for local residents will be the newly built intersection with ul. Sikorskiego, which used to be a cul-de-sac since 2000. The new link might spare local car-ridden residents around one kilometre of detour. Note the florist’s and delicatessen grocery on the left side of my snap. The two facilities have not changed by a bit since 20 years (I lived a stone’s throw to this spot until 2005), resisting competition from posh flower shops and Lidl and Kaufland shops opened nearby in early 2000s.

On Sunday afternoon we paid a visit to Warsaw Uprising Museum. This was my second trip to that establishment this year, so I served as a guide. The museum, as each public one is proscribed to open its doors free of charge once week. Here the day when visitors do not need to buy tickets is Sunday, hence a long queue to the entrance. The wait, fortunately, did not take long and after some 20 minutes we crossed the door of the building. After an hour and a half, as we were leaving, rain was pouring down heavily. Bang went plans of ambling around the new residential and commercial developments of Wola district.

On Monday and Tuesday I escaped to work (refused to take the whole week off and put my patience to such test, imagine my grin when I was driving off bound to be away from home for eleven hours) so my mother took care of the guests, showing them nooks and crannies linked to our family’s history in Piaseczno and on Tuesday they went to Warsaw to Królikarnia Park, Łazienki Park and to Palace of Culture’s observation deck.

On Wednesday morning we headed for Polish Jews’ Museum. The probably most magnificent museum in Warsaw was opened over three years ago, on 70^th anniversary of the Ghetto Uprising outbreak. The exhibition strikes with modernity and gives visitors the chance not just to familiarise with the history of Jews on the territory of Poland (not sparing the shameful pieces of it), but also acquaints them with Jews’ culture and religion.

Walking quite carefully through the exhibition took us more than two hours and if I can hint those interested in visiting the museum (definitely worthwhile), go through the first part of the exhibition, until the end of eighteenth century faster and than slow down, since as you move towards the present, the story gets more appealing.

Having left the museum, we strolled around the very centre of the capital to let the relatives see the recently built skyscrapers (in Warsaw’s terms building having more than 20 storeys) – Q22, Warsaw Spire and Cosmopolitan.

After the lunch the family were tired enough to stay in, while I took a bike for a short trip around the neighbour- hood. In Nowa Iwiczna, next to the station, pavement south of ul. Krasickiego was under construction. Dwellers of roadside houses were overseeing workers to ensure driveways to their properties were assembled properly (i.e. without curbs and not too slippery).

Little was going on close the station in Nowa Iwiczna. The level crossing has been opened, target tracks have been laid therein, yet the old island platform remained nearly intact and the place seemed to be lagging behind in terms of work progress, compared to other sections of W-wa Okęcie – Piaseczno modernised section.

Further north, in Jeziorki, tarmac has been ripped off ul. Karczunkow- ska and literally nothing was going on. As I turned up there, it was just before 4 p.m. so I expected to observe construction crews bustling about. Instead, the only humans at the scene were two men next to gatekeeper’s hut, staring at the desolated place. Besides, not a living soul in sight. Closure of the level crossing is an inconvenience for locals therefore swift pace of works should be ensured to minimise it.

In Dawidy, rail-wise, same progress of works as one station south. However here the level crossing has been revamped, yet gates have not been put up. Passengers can use one new platform next to newly-laid track used currently by trains running in both directions. The northbound track has been ripped and no signs of further course of works could be witnessed.

Cycling home along ul. Baletowa I spotted a ZTM bus, operating a newly launched 737 service. Inhabitants of this part of Zielony Ursynów had been waiting for a bus connection to town for 20 years and had greeted the first bus a few days earlier with ribbon-cutting, bread and salt. Must ul. Karczunkowska have been closed to bring those people closer to civilisation and relieve them from dependence on cars and rarely running trains which do not reach Ursynów or Mokotów?

On Thursday morning we set off to take a walk through Krakowskie Przedmieście. My mother and aunt visited interiors of all churches by the street, then we strolled around Plac Zamkowy. End of August is still a height of holiday season, so majority of people around (just like in Polin Museum) were foreigners.

Then guests took us to a café in Old Town Square to enjoy “home-made” ice-cream. While waiting for my portion, I snapped a bird, plucking and pecking flower petals. Then, I accidentally caught the fellow flying away, shooed by a waiter.

While heading towards the castle to turn right in the direction of the Unkown Soldier’s Tomb and Ogród Saski, I took a picture of the National Stadium. The sport arena looks splendid, unlike my photo which rather resembles an advertisement of Skoda Fabia (I somehow failed to notice the car, whose driver probably did not give a damn about traffic restrictions).

On Thursday afternoon we took the last trip to Konstancin Jeziorna. The place, which I used to pop in on often as a child, has undergone a huge change since I last visited the sanatoria park in spring 2013 (documented visit in 2011). The most dilapidated area near Jeziorka river has been marvellously revitalised, since three years ago where the pavement lies you could see a narrow trampled path, and wild shrubs were overgrowing it on both sides. The old sanatoria building was demolished to give way to a spa facility.

Hugonówka café, opened in 2014, is now the main cultural house in Konstancin, serving both as eatery and as scene of theatre and open-air cinema. Compared to how badly it looked in 2013, the stride made here brings out joy. Konstancin now is one of excellent weekend trip destinations for Varsovians!

On Friday early morning another Pendolino took my cousin and his wife home, while my aunt took a bus to Legionowo to visit her another cousin. The remaining household members could finally have a sigh of relief and after a solid cleaning up could enjoy a slightly longer weekend. Today around noon I set off to the airport to pick up my acquaintance from Germany who played host to me and my friend during holidays in 2005. I promised her to drive her to Wólka cemetery to visit her daughter’s grave, then we are about to eat out and her another daughter should take her home.

The weather these days is truly summer-like, yet +30C heat this time is absolutely tolerable for me. Cool nights and brisk mornings help air out interiors which give shelter from the heat in the afternoons, while the very air is dry and breeze takes the edge off heat. Long-term forecasts predict such weather is to continue until the end of first decade of September and may they prove accurate!

Longevity, five years later

A natural continuation to my post dated 15 May 2011. My paternal grandfather, my only grandparent still alive, turns 90 the day after tomorrow. He is my first ancestor who will have reached such grand old age. After my grandma’s departure last year, he lives on his own, yet every second day my father or my uncle visit him to help his run the house, or to make it clear, to run his house. This teaches the lesson that “old” marriage model in which a woman is solely responsible for household chores while a man earns a livelihood, leaves a widower helpless after several decades of being served by his wife. Fortunately, today’s marriages are geared to sharing mundane duties and men as a matter of principle are familiar with using washing machine, ironing, cleaning or cooking.

Compared to how he managed five years ago, grandpa is naturally mentally and physically less, yet still moves around on his own, but everything he does, he does very slowly (dressing up takes him twenty minutes, morning toiletry more than half an hour). Mentally, he is definitely less bright, yet in simple terms understand what is going on around. Quite conceivably, in five years I may wish him well on his 95^th birthday, yet mortality statistics look somewhat downbeat for males in his age.

Revising the post from 2011, my grandfather denies most of the twelve longevity-conducive factors I mentioned there. I think he owes his long life to my grandpa who wore trousers for over sixty six years of their marriage, who was always first to look after sons and the house. Maybe leading a carefree life should be tacked on as another driver of longer life length.

And I could hold back from repeating one of the last sentences: look at young yuppies who break their backs to make roaring careers and make lots money and ask yourself, if they'll be able to carry on like this for 40 years. Imagine a man working 60 hours a week for four decades when he retires in his sixties. I was writing it at the early stage of my career, before university graduation and did not know whether and when I would end up in such treadmill. As this is the situation in which I am stuck now (weighing up quitting the New Factory next year if nothing improves), I am more than sure I will not carry on like this for 40 years as long working hours and rapid pace of work involve lots of stress, leave little time and suck out energy, both essential for experiencing pleasures.

Great people depart, ordinary people depart

The sudden departure of professor Władysław Bartoszewski is not just a loss of an outstanding witness of twentieth century’s atrocious history and meritorious advocate of dialogue and forgiveness in international relations. It is, as many claim, another milestone towards the end of a certain era. The last representatives of WW2 survivors generation are slowly passing away, the same will happen soon to the last imprisoned in Stalinist times, in decades veterans of Solidarity will also grow less numerous. This is, inevitably, history in the making.

Media, not only Polish, are full of memoirs and obituaries of Mr Bartoszewski, since the professor was recognised and appreciated well beyond borders of Poland. For me Mr Bartoszewski symbolised the power of individualism and was awe-inspiring example of brilliant intellectual strength despite grand old age. As for the former, Mr Bartoszewski excelled at striking a balance between speaking out what he thought and not hurting anyone. As for the latter, he proved keeping up intellectual activity can help preserve mental fitness of a man in his 60s. Despite being 93, until his last days he was involved in public issues. He made his last appearance mere five days before the decease and was due to make another one tomorrow.

His lifeline, long and broad, was cut unexpectedly. In a TV interview given on his 80^th birthday, he confessed he feared a day when he would be still physically alive, yet not understanding what was going on around. As he wished, this day has never come, senility has never taken over him. Maybe thus he met his destination, he lived on the run and passed away on the run, so may we remember him that way.

The departure of aunt Krysia, my maternal’s grandmother’s cousin and my mother’s godmother also struck as a bolt from the blue. Aunt was 85, yet despite that age still mentally and physically fit. I last saw her on 14 March, the day after her name-day and in the eve of my grandma’s death. I thought when my grandma was at her age she was also so full of energy. Even on the day she passed away nothing presage the oncoming tragedy. Just like Mr Bartoszewski a few days later, she fainted in her flat, was taken to a hospital where she died.

Not my immediate relative, yet a loss. Aunt Krysia and her sister Anna Sabina (who died in 2005) gave my maternal grandmother and her sister shelter when they were driven out from Warsaw by Germans after Warsaw Uprising. For my mother aunt was the last person who spent a lot of time with her mother with who she could recollect her mother. As a child, I used to spend around a month each summer in aunt Krysia and her sister’s flat in Piaseczno. They looked after my cousins and me when our mothers had to go to work.

On the professional front, a farewell to a 34-year-old talented manager working for one of the New Factory’s competitors. He died suddenly in a hotel during a business trip to one of Poland’s major cities. He was survived by a partner with who he had two small children. As it turns out, you will not know the date, nor the hour…

Hope we have run out of misery for a while and the blog will not resemble an obituary column at least in the coming months. Next week an overdue note on the imminent presidential election. What the campaign and candidates stand for is a crying shame, yet the issue is too serious to escape my notice.

Grandma

My paternal grandmother was born on 3 November 1925 in the village of Skolimow, today a part of Konstancin-Jeziorna in a poor family. Before the outbreak of World War II she completed seven-year primary school. During the Nazi occupation her family's penury even worsened, since grandma's father was killed by Germans in February 1943.

After the end of the war she met my grandfather. They got married in October 1948; almost one year after the nuptials ceremony she gave brith to my father. Four years later my uncle was born.

She spent most of her adult life sharing her time between running the house, bringing up sons and work in shoe polish factory in Konstancin.

In mid 1980s she retired to help my aunt and uncle look after my cousin and then to take care of her ailing mother, the only great grandparent I barely remember, who died in March 1991. Her younger brother died in January 2011, while she stayed in good health, both physically and mentally fit despite quite advanced age.

In the recent years she was the first to look after my grandfather after his several stays in the hospital. His recovery has to be credited to her dedication and sacrifice, made at the expense of neglected progressing osteoporosis which sent her nearly bed-ridden in July 2014. Fortunately, for next over half a year she could get up from bed from time to time and still remained fully mentally sound almost until her very last days. 

Grandma passed away today, aged 89. She was survived by a husband, two sons, two grandsons and one great grandson.

I shall remember the last words grandma told me on 21 February, during our last conversation when she was entirely conscious: Przestań się wreszcie uczyć i znajdź sobie dziewczynę, bo jak rodzice umrą, to zostaniesz sam na świecie i umrzesz też sam. Home truth. Grandma tended to be coarse at times... The priest who came a week later with last rites sighed and told grandma she should be happy to be surrounded by the family, since more and more often he sees elderly people who do have children and grandchildren, departing in solitude.

Życie

I generally hold a view if somebody takes decisions, they are not entitled to gripe about the fate these decisions bring. This year-end post will likely be inconsistent with my overall stance. I also realise this note might exude egocentricity. Every human is more or less self-centred and I presume the very self-focus itself is not disturbing, only an excessive degree of is a reason for concern. Some of you may perceive this piece as over-exposing my mindset. Your right. While mine is to decide what to save for posterity and for myself on the blog and thus I’m exercising it, heedless of doubts and inhibitions.

Chaos creeping in…

Twenty past five. I don’t need an alarm clock to wake up precisely on that hour on a working day. Oddly enough my bio-clock has learnt to recognise days of a week. On Saturdays it brings me awake half an hour later and on Sundays around seven. I’m drowsy anyway. After suffering from insomnia last summer, I swing into another extreme. I’m comatose and a perfect dosage of sleep is nine to ten hours, some two hours more than an average adult needs. During the day I happen to be sleepy, but never take a nap. Since early childhood I’ve never been capable of sleeping during the day. Any attempts to fall asleep during the day ended up with either staying awake or a quarter-long snooze leaving me fallen apart, rather than perked up… Maybe it’s because of the weather. Never hurts to find an exogenous (watch out, a difficult word, try to replace it with shorter “external”) factor to put a blame on. Short, dark, gloomy days rarely lift spirits. Oddly enough, this year I don’t feel the end-year blues so characteristic to the period of studying…

Then breakfast and morning toiletry and time to set off to work…

The first stage of my commute is journey by car to park and ride Ursynów. Driving calms me down. This may seem odd to you, as many find this activity stressful. I find the harmony between movements of my limbs and the way the car moves. Behind the wheel I continually strive to strike a balance between dynamic and economical driving. Each move of legs needs to be carefully planned and smoothly made and properly synchronised. No lurching is self-allowed, no abrupt braking (unless warranted by situation on the road) or accelerating as well. Such style of driving greatly increases the comfort of driving and reduces the car’s wear and tear. The car, despite its age, well reciprocates with reliability the way I look after it (no smallest repair since May 2013). I slightly fear the moment it begins to call for cash injections might draw nearer due to frequent longer distances recently covered. Motorway driving wears out a vehicle much less than city driving, but each such trip adds several hundred kilometres to a mileage (still very low, given the age of the car). I actually like taking longer journeys by car, and if someone from the team needs to take it, I come forward. They calm me down…

Work. Five months into the job with the New Factory is I guess too short for authoritative summary. I will write up a comprehensive rundown after one year (i.e. in late July 2015). For the time being I can confine to a conclusion the shake-off period is over and although it’s still uphill, the slope is less steep, and to a conclusion the biggest downside of the change are people and interpersonal relationships at the New Factory. For sure, it’s not a black-and-white world, there are several shades of grey in between and exceptions that prove a rule. In terms of people I have to work with, I miss folks from the Employer. With hindsight however, given the fact the Employer has been put up for sale, the decision to change the job looks at least rational and was the best I could do in those circumstances. Disposal of the Employer by the Wicked Corporation may have twofold consequences. Either the Watchdog will give consent to another market player to take it over and merge with its current business. This will mean much part of the Employer would most likely be wiped out. Alternatively, the Employer will be acquired by a foreign investor willing to get a foothold on the Polish market. If such investor was reasonable (i.e. came from country other than Spain, Portugal, Italy, France, Greece, Russia, United States or from Asia), it could create an interesting opportunity for a comeback… For months to come this will be a daydream and I will have to stick to what I’ve chosen for myself…

Home… Later than most peers I’ve grown up to a stage when I happen to clash with parents. All of us are getting older, tend to do things our own way. My inner call for autonomy gets more audible, hence it is high time I moved out. For some reasons for some parents the moment when a child flies the nest is a shock, for others it’s totally natural. Mine fall into the first category, therefore I’m preparing them for that moment, due in the second half of next year…

If I broach the topic of the family, theme of grandparents naturally crops up. They’d been capable of managing on their own until late July 2014. On 29 July 2014 granny (aged then 88, currently 89) fell over and a small injury has left has almost bed-ridden (fortunately she is capable of walking to the bathroom and back). The aftermath of minor tripping over wouldn’t have been so acute, had it not been for neglected (granny is quite stubborn) for many years osteoporosis. The grandparents still somehow complement one another; granny is mentally still sound (although there are short moments when she drifts away); grandpa (aged 88) is physically quite fit, but dementia seems to be progressing (he has no problem walking to a marketplace to buy food produces, but when he arrives there despite having a list of stuff to buy, he might have problems expressing himself to ask for what he wants to buy). When grandma’s health suddenly deteriorated I thought the end was near, now I see grandparents may carry on like this for years, which does not imply bright prospects. Reaching grand old age brings out joy when it is accompanied by good health, something may grandparents enjoyed mere half a year ago. The main burden of taking care of them falls to my father and his brother. As the only child I thereby appreciate the advantage of having siblings…

Revisiting the topic of work, one of my fears before going there has not materialised, namely one doesn’t have to do overtime as a rule. As in every company operating in competitive environment, there are incidences of keeping late hours, but those are exceptions that prove the rule. This means if I knock on around eight a.m., I’m usually back home around six p.m.

The essential part of evenings during the working week is learning. Back when preparing for Levels I and II, I had a habit of taking the study materials to the office, coming to work before eight and studying until half past eight (in the morning). At the New Factory work kicks off an hour earlier than in most companies in the industry, as a result of which I have no choice but to learn in the evenings. Between 7 and 8 p.m., when I usually sit down and pore over Readings, I’m not as brisk as in the morning, but there’s no alternative. Learning during weekends only is not enough. After passing Level II, there was absolutely no point in putting back taking Level III until precisely non-defined point in future, since such move would diminish my odds of seeing the back of it. The most reasonable course of action was to go ahead and strive to complete the Program in 2015. If I pass and then I earn the Charter, I’ll probably be immensely proud of myself. Before it happens there will be many days when I’ll be swearing like a trooper. I estimate I spent some 330 hours before taking Level I, around 370 before taking Level II and given intricacy of Level III, I will need to commit more than 400 hours to stand a chance to pass Level III. The Program is a genuine time-consumer and requires some sacrifices. Hats down to people who have children and pass consecutive exams. If I don’t pass in June 2015 (not inconceivable), I’ll need to rethink whether value added of retaking the exam would surpass sacrifices…

The (mostly) sedentary lifestyle has began to take its toll on me. Relapsing pains in bottom section of my spine prompted me to get my act together. I took up daily exercising in mid-October and carry on until now, gradually stepping up intensity and load. Saturday’s 40 minutes of swimming and Sunday’s long walks proved insufficient. But a daily dose of physical exercise does well to my body. Has not worked a miracle, but I feel brisker, fitter and pains down my spine have gone away.

In terms of friendships. I foster them and broadly I feel genuinely surrounded by people, but… There are two buts. The first is that more than 90% of my friends either have got married or have partners who can be dubbed would-be spouses. The second but is that all of us spend a lot of time at work and then focus on down-to-earth duties, either objective or self-imposed, meaning it takes some effort to set a time and date suitable for everyone to meet up. As a result the friendships are kept up mostly by the phone and by computer. Not the most preferable way, but better than none.

When it comes to personal life. I confess not to have sought a girlfriend since that plea. It’s not about utterly giving up or losing heart. Desperate lookout is a dead-end street. Besides, before I write it, I know, it’s an idiotically lame excuse, but squeezing a woman into the world in which I don’t feel entirely comfortable, yet I don’t find time to feel emptiness, is a challenge. It’s a lame excuse, because if not now, then when? With time it will only get worse… Fortunately, at least I have a friend with who I can go to cinema or somewhere else, if any of us feels like. She’s two years older, also single. You’d ask why she’s not my girlfriend then. The reason is simple – no chemistry between us. A silly explanation? When I’m beside her I’m not tempted to hug her, hold her hand or kiss her, let alone going to bed. It’s not about her being unattractive. Sometimes the two don’t fit together. That simple and that complicated.

If you’ve had the patience to keep on reading until the last paragraph, most probably you expect a sensible bottom line. No such luck. I won’t turn my life upside down without rhyme and reason. To do so, I’d need a profound rationale… Until 6 June 2015 I don’t expect any revolutionary changes and plan to get by as I do now. By definition this approach is imperfect, yet optimal. By taking some steps rashly I’d risk tearing apart what seems to make sense. And then… Time will tell… Several times I considered finding a job abroad and moving there. I would definitely get by, maybe I would get ahead, but the only problem is that whenever I am abroad, I strongly feel it’s not home (probably nothing unusual). Plus I’d have to start everything from scratch, totally on my own, which on one hand means opened up opportunities, on the other is a stressful experience…

Longevity – a reason to be cheerful?

Musings written with considerable delay – should have been posted here a few weeks ago, as on 24 October 2013 my paternal grandparents had their 65th wedding anniversary and my paternal grandmother turned 88 on 3 November 2013.

My maternal grandmother died from cancer aged 73, when I was only four, so I barely remember her, but until the last weeks of her life, when the disease began to advance rapidly, she stayed mentally and physically fit. My maternal grandfather died aged 87 five years ago. Until the age of 86 he was mentally and physically very fit, but fortunately the senility overwhelming him in the last months of his life did not progress so quickly to prevent him from moving around and doing basic things on his own and by the end of his days he understood what was going on around and even sensed the oncoming departure.

My paternal grandparents still live on their own and somehow manage on their own. Their self-sufficiency can be attributed only to the fact they are together (also financially, as their pension benefits are demure).

Grandma is mentally still exceptionally fit. She displays no signs of dementia, is interested, sometimes overly, in what is going around, experiences no problems with memory and despite advanced age, her brain seems unaffected by aging. On the other hand, on account of her problems with spine, several bones and joints, she moves around with aid of walking stick. If she goes out of her flat, she only ambles outside her block of flats; any further journeys require somebody giving her a lift by car.

Grandpa, aged 87, on the other hand is moderately mentally and physically fit. When he feels well, he does the shopping, strolls around the neighbourhood and cleans the house. In terms of general comprehension of surrounding world, his mental fitness is much better than many of his peers, but nowhere as good as of his wife’s. Once in a few months he loses conscience and is taken to a hospital, where he recuperates, but then return home so weak that he stays in bed most of time, recovers for some next month and does well until next such incident strikes him. In 2012 he had 2 such stays in the hospital, in 2013 he landed in the hospital three times, last time in November. Doctors openly say odds of sustainable improvement in his health, owing to his age, are very low.

Polish language lacks the equivalent of ‘grand old age’, the term intuitively referring to a person who lived very long, but in good health. When you speak of far-reaching senility when an elderly person requires as much attention and aid as an infant, it is just an ‘old age'

I am lucky to assert none of my departed and living grandparents has reached that point when the old age is no longer grand. It is that sad moment when an old person no longer recognises their relatives, does not remember their own name, cannot be left at home alone, is bed-ridden, or unable to do the most mundane things on their own.

Aging of societies begins to pose a challenge for humanity, in economic and social terms. Higher percentage population in pension age elicit a need to reshape pension systems. Higher number of senile people and other social changes raise a question how to properly take care of elderly people and give rise to businesses focusing on such services.

For the last decades it has become a paradigm that each next generation will outlive the previous one. A recent study by WHO call this assertion into question and gives evidence current children are less fit than their parents and this will translate into lower life expectancy. No wonder, youngsters fall victim of their lifestyle –  being driven in cars by parents, avoiding sport lessons at school and doing sport in general, spending time in front of computer, rather than on football pitch. Even during breaks between classes at school they stare at their smartphones instead of running around. In Poland I observe things drifting in the wrong direction, in comparison to times when I was in primary school. With some dread my parents recently noticed their parents were much more fit (meaning healthy and active) when they had been in their early sixties then they are…

What to do to grow old and live until ripe old age in good health?

Have a lot of friends and foster friendships?

Be sociable?

Be open-minded and keep track of new developments in the world?

Have hobbies and passions?

Get enough physical exercise?

Do sports regularly?

Avoid using cars when unjustified?

Having medical examinations done regularly?

Refrain smoking and drinking alcohol in small amounts?

Follow a healthy diet?

Keeping work-life balance?

Avoiding stress?

Drawing pleasure from your work?

Extend the list above?

Or do the factors above it really matter? Is it all written in the stars? Or does it run in the genes?

Easter break musings

A peculiar jumble of random thoughts that have haunted me over the last days… (and my 300th post)

Good Friday. One of those days in the office when everyone is counting down minutes till the shop closes. An unwritten rule states everyone is free to knock off at two p.m. The head of my department is the first to give a cue to go home at ten past two. He’s been puzzlingly laid-back over the past weeks, coming to work late, leaving home early. His light-heartedness gets more and more disturbing, chiefly in the light of my ex-manager’s promotion to a position in the international structures of our corporation. His devil-may-care attitude has two-fold implications: the pressure under which I am is not formally strong (I have to keep self-supervising myself), but one day this will lead to serious business failure and guess who’ll be to blame for it…

I decided to sit longer than others to catch up with some overdue work. Being one of few workers in the open plan gives the opportunity to overhear what can’t be loudly said when everyone’s around. And so I learn this year’s bonus and pay rise funds will be kind of meagre. Well, it’s best to save on human capital that keeps this boat afloat, but if the remuneration policy is carried on like this, best employees will seek better paid positions outside (provided the market doesn’t slump, which is conceivable) and the boat will sink. This would be a well-deserved end… Additionally after over a year I clearly notice those who spend the most time in the office to don’t work the hardest, or the most efficiently. Often when I observe some people I conclude they could easily do the job which takes them eleven hours a day within eight hours, if only they could better organise their duties. Sometimes I think sitting from dawn to dusk in the office is a sort of lifestyle or a way of filling in emptiness. But hang on, some of those people have families, but quite probably their wives and children prefer when they’re away from home. Stop, it’s getting too bitter. I strive to perform my tasks possibly efficiently and not keep late hours in the office to be appreciated by superiors. Wise managers mind the outcome, not the effort.

Who was the dim-witted one to hatch the idea that public transport should run according to weekend timetable? The journey from work to P&R Stokłosy, normally lasting 35 minutes has taken me a quarter longer. Fortunately enough, the worst traffic on ul. Puławska are over (I deliberately waited it out the office), but traffic remains dense. Just like before each Christmas, Easter, long weekend, many migrants living in Warsaw “go home”. There is a even a term coined to describe people who’ve come from provincial Poland to Warsaw in search for a better life. These are słoiki, literally ‘jars’. This offensive term derives from the fact that every time they travel to their relatives somewhere in Poland, they put empty jars into the boots of their cars and when returning to Warsaw, they bring supplies of food in jars. I’m not sure whether the term applies to rickety cars on provincial number plates, or to their drivers with poor driving skills, for whom traffic in Warsaw is too difficult to handle… Słoiki appear as scapegoats on TVN Warszawa forum, whenever a car on LLU, BHA, LHR, TST or other in-the-sticks plates causes an accident in the capital or, as in the linked article, when such clapped-out vehicle disintegrates on the road...

Saturday, chilly and drizzly, reminds me of weather on Saturday 10 April 2010. That day was also gloomy and ugly. The second anniversary of Smolensk disaster is nearing. Today Mr Kaczynski is about to speak to its followers. I don’t really care, I let things drift…

Sunday. There was no snow for Christmas, so may it be for Easter. 8 a.m., temperature +1C and little snow falling on the ground. Not a pleasant weather to go outside, but it’s time to set off to pick up my grandparents from Konstancin and then to visit the family in Ursus, Warsaw. The streets are almost empty, one can spot only cars on Warsaw number plates, so with my WPI plate I feel like a countryman. Family gathering runs its course as usual. For a good start again disputes whether Russians had planted a bomb in Polish TU-154 that crashed near Smolensk, whether anyone could survive an impact at the speed of 260 kmph, or how come engines were gradually reducing revolutions after the explosion. Not to mention claims who is an expert in physics and aviation. Neither impresses me my cousin, bringing his father on accelerating his car to 180 kmph, touching a birch with a wing mirror to see what happens. Hearing for the tenth time if Mr Tusk was a man of honour he would have shot himself in a head doesn’t make lose my patience. But the mere thought that one day I will have to take my girlfriend for a family round-up fills me with dread. But actually from what I’ve seen in many families such gatherings are not a bed of roses… Just recalled one day Toyah was taken aback when he found out most of my relatives, both on my mother’s and father’s side vote for PiS…

Then my parents and I go for a walk to ul. Piastowska and ul. Regulska to see the progress on S2 construction. Not much has changed here since the previous Easter. The level of pessimism in me has risen since writing last week’s summary on road building programme. We’ll visit the site next year to see the progress of works. I don’t expect it to be finished in April 2013…

Woken up by beautiful sunlight today to see –4C on thermometer. This also happens on Easter Monday. I logged on facebook to get the invitation for my high school friend’s wedding, held on Saturday, yes on 14 April 2012. Great to have the advance notice – I wonder how many of the invited will drop everything, abandon their plans to show up? I will pop over anyway, it’d be a pleasure to participate in such event. Wedding season 2012 kicks off a week earlier. Coming back to the form, have social media impacted etiquette so considerably? Would facebook be the way of informing people of weddings? Would traditional invitation cards become the thing of the past? And if somebody doesn’t sign up, would they be omitted or assigned the status of socially dead? Till now, I haven’t accepted, nor declined the invitation, just watching others’ reactions…