Tag Archives: Tulcea

Photo: The visit

 Tulcea, 14 June 1928: Evdokia with a friend of hers, who came to visit (with exactly three years before the birth of my grandmother! – what a coincidence).

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Photo: Vasile on chair

Vasile Covaliov, in the house of the Pavlov family, standing on chair, in suit with tie, at the end of the 20s, Tulcea (the date and photographer are not mentioned).

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Photo: Portrait of Evdokia

 

Evdokia Andreevna, my great-grandmother, in her 30s (the date and the photographer are not mentioned)

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Family Photo: The Covaliovs

1932, family photography: Vasile (left) holding  Mărioara Vasilievna (center) at the age of one year, standing – next to his wife, Evdokia (right) – on a bench in the garden of the house. (FOTO ELEGANT, Gheorghe P. Jeciu, Tulcea)

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The Value of Intelligence in Love

Ante scriptum: “Which is the value of intelligence in love?” For months I had been trying to give an answer to this dilemma. I rewrote this article three times but, every time, I couldn’t find the right words. It is very hard to intelligently speak about love, what to say about intelligently speaking about love while weighting the value of intelligence in the same time.  After all, love is an unspeakable feeling, which you cannot describe in words. And then, what should I do? “An image values as 1000 words”, it is said.

Tulcea, 1954

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The Blue Marble

“And then, his house which will it be? A man’s home is the place where he feels that he truly belongs”

This is what Tudor wrote, in today’s article. He loves his house, his childhood “nest”, the family which safeguards him… the country he lives, the Earth he inhabits.

When he dreams of travelling to another planets, I don’t know why, but my thought flies to Saint-Exupery and his Little Prince, which had a star that, no matter how small it was, he loved it, because it was his home, his country, his mystery….

God made so wonderful the visible things, but the unseen ones, His Kingdom, to wchich he climb slowly, hanging by every word He speaks with the fingers of faith, dazzled, hesistating, but most important, loving, this will be our eternal home, our hapyness, our peace.

As I read Vişan Miu Tudor’s “Blue Marble”, I madly missed my father…. because the home a human being must fell that he belongs isn’t the earth, but the place He prepared for him.

Introduction by Răsvan Cristian Stoica
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