My roots go deep within my soul. No, not the roots of my hair but my heratige. I am proud to be the child of a Hungarian immigrant and a Brit. I have always taken pride in saying I am an American but not a full blooded one. Not to say being a full blooded American is any less than I as they are certainly NOT.. but I love the culture rich environment in which I grew up. Having a hard hand and rigid rules were one time a contention for rebellion and hatred yet today those days are now greatly appreciated.
I was blessed to have relatives that did not speak one iota of English and cooked food that was OUT OF THIS WORLD!!! Then again, I was doubly blessed to also have relatives that spoke perfect English so much so that they corrected me constantly in my mannerisms and the way in which I spoke. As a young girl I was blessed to be able to visit countries that many of my peers have always dreamed of visiting. I walked through castles built in 1300 and ran through vineyards that were just as old! I took a bath in a bucket as there was no running water or bathrooms in the povershed village in which I stayed. I believe my appreciation for life and the things around me was seeded and matured at a very young age compared to most. Having communist militia hold a gun at your head because you were arguing so loudly with your sister that you were disturbing 'their' peace and you were an American blonde to boot made me realize being an American is a beautiful thing at the ripe young age of 9.
I was blessed to have relatives that did not speak one iota of English and cooked food that was OUT OF THIS WORLD!!! Then again, I was doubly blessed to also have relatives that spoke perfect English so much so that they corrected me constantly in my mannerisms and the way in which I spoke. As a young girl I was blessed to be able to visit countries that many of my peers have always dreamed of visiting. I walked through castles built in 1300 and ran through vineyards that were just as old! I took a bath in a bucket as there was no running water or bathrooms in the povershed village in which I stayed. I believe my appreciation for life and the things around me was seeded and matured at a very young age compared to most. Having communist militia hold a gun at your head because you were arguing so loudly with your sister that you were disturbing 'their' peace and you were an American blonde to boot made me realize being an American is a beautiful thing at the ripe young age of 9.
I just wanted to blog my thoughts and reflections of how much I love who I am and where I come from. My name was given to me by my Hungarian grandmother...Erica. Adicka is what she called me...of course she spoke NO English and I spoke little Hungarian. Yet...we understood each other clearly. My British Grandparents were warm and loving as well. I loved playing on their cow farm that was about 600 years old. My Grandfather was a joker and always made me laugh. I believe that is where my humor comes from and my love for food comes from my Hungarian side. My love for life....from my parents. Thank you for making me who I am.
Köszönöm , Szeretlek
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