|
 |
|
|
|
Here is the full reference card for this book...
If you'd rather place an order by talking to one of our cheerful order desk clerks, please call 1-888-232-4444 (USA and Canada only) or 250-383-6864. From Europe, ring our UK order desk clerk at local rate number 0845 230 9601 (UK only) or 44 (0)1865 722 113.
This Old House by the Lake by Judith Petres Balogh 284 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0554; ISBN 1-55369-741-3; US$25.50, C$29.95, EUR21.00, £15.00 After reaching a landmark age, the author and her husband moved to Hungary and found themselves in an intriguing life. The book tells about their triumphs and tribulations as they adjust to a different culture.
Read more!
about the book
about the author
Reviews
sample excerpts
catalogue info
About the Book
After retiring from the US Department of Defense (DoDDS), the author moved to Hungary at the time when the Iron Curtain came down. The decision was painful, and the move incredibly difficult- and funny. She and her husband found a world vastly different from the one they left behind. Sadness, hilarity, frustrations, perplexity, and triumphs were all part of this astounding experience. The tales of the locals about Communism were eye-openers. After all goals were achieved, retirement finally did turn into the Golden Age, which is the ultimate desire of those, who care for their future. The book gives proof that the dream can come true.
Also available from this author BEYOND CONVENTIONS.
|
About the Author
The author, a retired teacher of gifted students, and for several years an
elementary school administrator, spends some of her time in Hungary with her
husband. Their four children live in Germany, Ohio, North Carolina, and
Georgia. When not in Hungary, they spend time with one of them. Two of
her novels, YOURS IS THE EARTH and THE COUNTESS AND HER DAUGHTER
are awaiting publication.
|
Reviews
This book emerged as one of my top two picks. I am most impressed with the author's willingness to share her memories and observations of experiences of creating a home in Hungary when the Iron Curtain came down. Her portrayal of the ups and downs of this time period makes for compelling reading. The author spins an intriguing story of "regular" people who embark on the adventure of recreating their life at a time when other people are settling back to retire. The writing style is bright and without errors, creating a compelling narrative in the process. The book is made even more interesting by the author's mix of personal observations, general history and catchy dialogue. - Written comments from a judge from the Writer's Digest 11th Annual International Self-Published Book Awards Contest
|
Sample Excerpts
-from the Prologue
When I was young, my generation went through "phases". Some of these
phases were our own; others belonged to the children we produced along
the way. In either case, we prayed piously for each to pass. The sooner,
the better. Later, as prices rose, suburbs grew and psychology became a
household word, these phases acquired deeper meanings, respectability,
and total acceptance. They were also renamed, and were now referred
to as "passages." As the name implies, these too passed eventually
and as a reward for enduring them all, we could look forward to a peaceful
Golden Age with cookies baking in our ovens and grandchildren
romping around the house. White-haired and at peace with the world,
we would preside over holiday tables, exuding benevolent wisdom, enviable
charm and happy contentment. The work of our life successfully
done, all the passages safely behind us, we would gently and gracefully
fade into the golden sunset.
These were reasonable expectations. There was nothing extravagant
in the plan and it would not have broken the federal budget to achieve
them. But fate, in its bottomless perversity, had a different denouement
for us.
In the second half of the seventies, after a divorce and after seeing
my three grown children settled, I was hired by the US Department of
Defense as a teacher for the dependents of the military. I was stationed
in Germany, where in due time I married a second time, then earned
two master degrees, one in special education (of the gifted) and one in
school administration. I was nearing my sixtieth birthday, but life was
never better.
But, as in all good stories, conflict entered. There were ominous clouds
gathering on the horizon effectively blurring the golden sunset we took
for granted. The Storm finally broke and the Gulf War became a reality,
but which mercifully did not last as long as was initially feared.
The preceding paragraphs contain enough material for a novel about
the length of War and Peace. But the topic of this tale is limited to a
short period of time just after the war, and the events following it. Our
life changed fundamentally, and we experienced what surely is the grandmother
of all passages.
Our rejoicing about the war being over was marred by a new worry,
more personal in its nature than the war itself. Rumors were rampant
and contradictory, but one basic issue was undeniable: the US military
forces in Europe were heading for a major downsizing in the near future.
Obviously, that meant fewer dependents, hence fewer and smaller
schools. It did not take three college degrees to figure out that many of
us were facing unemployment at an age when we were no longer marketable.
Our huge staff was not part of the Department of Education; we
were employed by the Department of Defense. Hence at my retirement
the years I was teaching in Ohio would not be calculated into the total
years of service I had to my credit. I worked only for a period of thirteen
years for DoDDS (Department of Defense Dependents' Schools), and
so I was not even eligible for retirement yet, and even if I were, the
benefits would be ridiculously low. As far as retaining my job, my seniority
was not impressive either.
I spent the years at DoDDS teaching the gifted in special programs
at one large school, and setting up enrichment programs in six others.
During the last three years I was part of the administration in the position
of Educational Program Manager, or EPM, as I was called.
The turnover rate was brisk in these overseas schools, because a large
percentage of the teaching staff was made up of military spouses. When
the military tour of duty was completed and the husbands were transferred,
usually back home to the USA, the wife-teachers followed them.
Few of the educators lasted longer than four years. In view of this, I
appeared to have a lot of seniority. However, the rest of the educators,
and especially those in administration, were not military dependents
and the majority had well over twenty-five years of service to their credits.
It was obvious and fair that when the trimming started, DoDDS should
retain those with venerable seniority.
But these noble considerations did not ease the worries about my
position. My husband, with the inelegant title of "non-resident alien" in the USA,
and "political exile without a citizenship" in Germany, and
with an unusual passport issued for political exiles only, causing a concerned
stir at every country's border-check we ever passed, was retiring
in January after not too many years of employment in Germany. He fled
the then Communist Hungary in 1976, shortly before I arrived in Germany.
Losing one serious income in the near future was scary enough,
but the prospect of losing two and a very small retirement plan in the
future, had the overtones of a Greek tragedy.
Aside from the emotional impact of losing a job I loved, I could not
ignore the practical consideration of finances. I was determined to retrieve
at least some of the obscene amount of money I invested in my
education. The only way I could achieve this was to keep on working
until death would part me from my desk, or at least until I achieved
twenty years of service. After spending long hot summers stateside studying,
paying for tuition, car rentals, transatlantic flights and the upkeep
of two households (one in Germany and one in the USA), our savings
account looked so sad that we seemed to hear Mozart's Requiem every
time we looked at the figures.
Everybody tried to second-guess the Washington-based makers of
the grand plan of the draw-down, and there were more wild rumors
than hair on our heads. The Regional Main Office of the school district
alone exercised admirable restraint. It said nothing, knew nothing. The
military newspaper "Stars and Stripes" was our only source of information,
but it said nothing to gladden the heart. The Regional Office would
neither repeat nor refute the news. The most we could get out of the
Spokesperson was, "Changes are inevitable and we are working on solutions."
We wanted desperately to believe, but could not see how our posi-tions
could be saved. There were 144 schools, tens of thousands of children
and thousands of educators. Simple arithmetic was enough to show
that if half the kids would leave with their parents, half the schools must
close and that would leave twice as many educators as there are positions.
And rumors insisted that far more than half of the military force
would be withdrawn. The numbers just did not add up.
Of course, the Regional Office did have a vision. By the very nature
of the thing, the situation of the teachers was not as grave as that of the
administrators. The solution envisioned was fairly simple: as long as no new
teachers were hired, there was a chance that by "attrition" the situation
could be eased, perhaps even resolved.
"Attrition" was a favorite and catchy term of that time. It was not
used to describe things (like rocks) that would be worn down, eroded in
time. Instead, it defined the process of losing teachers by natural means,
such as being shipped back to the USA with their military husbands,
getting pregnant (and quitting) or retiring (perhaps dying), due to advanced
age or because of the stress everybody endured. If enough of the
teaching staff would be "eroded" in this manner, and the hiring of new
teachers would be halted, then the teachers, who were too tenacious to
be worn down, could be spread out into the still existing teaching positions.
Thus the problem of teacher placement for the next school year
became a simple series of physical events, easily demonstrated by displaying
charts, past statistics and projections. The idea was not unlike
those old, horrid mathematical problems that went something like this:
it takes 15 minutes to fill a tub and 20 minutes to empty it. Let us assume
the tub is filled to the half mark. If we do not place the stopper in the
tub and keep filling it with water... etc. There you are with a tub filled
partially with water, no job and no solutions.
Catalogue Information
