{"id":805,"date":"2012-01-08T11:13:08","date_gmt":"2012-01-08T11:13:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/?p=805"},"modified":"2012-03-20T16:42:10","modified_gmt":"2012-03-20T16:42:10","slug":"805","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/2012\/01\/08\/805\/","title":{"rendered":"JURNA LAMAR – \/ RODICA ANCA"},"content":{"rendered":"

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\"\"<\/a> RODICA ANCA<\/strong><\/p>\n

I L I N C A<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong>\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ILINCA mi-a r\u0103mas mai mult \u00een inim\u0103 dec\u00e2t \u00een memorie. Amintirile despre ea sunt, mai<\/strong> cur\u00e2nd, sentimente, doruri, adieri, triste\u0163i, dec\u00e2t imagini sau \u00eent\u00e2mpl\u0103ri. A fost Mama mea. De\u015fi a<\/strong> murit c\u00e2nd eu aveam doar zece ani, tr\u0103ie\u015fte \u00een sufletul meu de al\u0163i 58, c\u00e2\u0163i au trecut de atunci.<\/strong>
\n Fat\u0103 de la \u0163ar\u0103, gonit\u0103 de s\u0103r\u0103cie, a venit dintre dealurile Mehedin\u0163iului la Bucure\u015fti s\u0103<\/strong> \u00eenve\u0163e meserie. A intrat ucenic\u0103 la croitorie \u015fi a cusut p\u00e2n\u0103 s-a \u00eemboln\u0103vit, ba, chiar \u015fi \u00een timp ce<\/strong> suferea. Nu \u015ftiu cum l-a \u00eent\u00e2lnit pe tata, cum s-a m\u0103ritat, cum au tr\u0103it. N-am apucat s\u0103 aflu. \u015etiu<\/strong> doar c\u0103 m\u0103 iubea \u015fi c\u0103 suferea pentru mine.<\/strong> \u00cei v\u0103d pe am\u00e2ndoi, acas\u0103, c\u0103 n-aveau atelier, cos\u00e2nd \u015fi c\u00e2nt\u00e2nd toat\u0103 ziua. Aceasta este<\/strong> cea mai drag\u0103 imagine despre p\u0103rin\u0163ii mei. Serile le urm\u0103ream din pat umbrele care dansau pe<\/strong> pere\u0163i la lumina l\u0103mpii cu gaz, c\u0103 nu aveam curent electric \u00een cele dou\u0103 od\u0103i\u0163e din paiant\u0103,<\/strong> \u00eenchiriate, chiar \u00een Bariera Vergului.C\u00e2nd nu c\u00e2nta, mama ne spunea pove\u015fti, mie \u015fi m\u0103tu\u015fii mele, sora ei, Dada, cum \u00eei spunea ea. Sau ne citea pove\u015fti \u015fi poeziile lui Co\u015fbuc. ( Numai c\u0103 pe atunci eu nu \u015ftiam de el).<\/strong>
\nParc\u0103 o aud c\u00e2nt\u00e2ndu-mi \u201cJuna Rodica\u201d, \u201cA venit un mo\u015f din cr\u00e2ng\u201d, Sau \u00eenv\u0103\u0163\u00e2ndu-m\u0103 poezii<\/strong>
\n frumoase, cum este asta: \u201c Afar\u0103 ninge lini\u015ftit\/ \u015ei-n sob\u0103 arde focul\/ Dar noi, pe l\u00e2ng\u0103 Mama<\/em><\/strong> st\u00e2nd\/ De mult uitar\u0103m jocul.\/ E noapte, patul e f\u0103cut, \/ Dar cine s\u0103 se culce\/ C\u00e2nd Mama spune<\/strong><\/em> de Isus \/ Cu glasu-i cald \u015fi dulce:\/ Cum s-a n\u0103scut Isus Christos\/ \u00cen ieslea cea s\u0103rac\u0103\/ Cum boii<\/strong><\/em> peste El suflau\/ C\u0103ldur\u0103 ca s\u0103-I fac\u0103\/ \u2026.(nu-mi mai amintesc dou\u0103 versuri) \/ Iar \u00eengerii din cer<\/strong><\/em> c\u00e2ntau\/ Cu flori de m\u0103r \u00een m\u00e2n\u0103<\/em>\u201d \u015ei multe altele, pe care, cu durere \u00een suflet, \u00eemi dau seama c\u0103 nu<\/strong> mi le mai amintesc.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

Dragostea asta pentru fantastic \u015fi pentru poezie, pe care ea mi-a pus-o \u00een inim\u0103 nu m-a<\/strong> p\u0103r\u0103sit nici acum. C\u00e2nd am putut s\u0103 citesc, am \u00eenv\u0103\u0163at multe poezii, doar pentru bucuria mea.<\/strong> \u015etiu c\u0103 pare nefiresc, mai ales \u00een zilele noastre, ca o fat\u0103 de la \u0163ar\u0103 s\u0103 iubeasc\u0103 poezia. Dar a\u015fa<\/strong> erau \u0163\u0103ranii no\u015ftri rom\u00e2ni: iubitori de frumos, de natur\u0103 \u015fi de patrie. Asta am descoperit-o eu<\/strong> \u00eens\u0103mi peste pu\u0163in timp c\u00e2nd, dup\u0103 moartea mamei, sora ei, Dada, m-a luat la ea, la \u0163ar\u0103, pentru<\/strong> vreo doi ani \u015fi am iubit satul acela \u015fi \u0163\u0103ranii lui.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

Tata, b\u0103rbat frumos, cu ochii dup\u0103 orice femeie! I-a f\u0103cut Ilinc\u0103i o via\u0163\u0103 cam nefericit\u0103.<\/strong>
\n Nu povestesc am\u0103nunte, nici nu le cunosc, dec\u00e2t din ce-mi povestea m\u0103tu\u015f\u0103-mea c\u00e2nd am<\/strong> crescut. Cea de a doua amintire cert\u0103 este din timpul bolii \u2013 cancer \u2013 c\u00e2nd m-a luat tata la spital:<\/strong> p\u00e2n\u0103 la poarta spitalului (Floreasca) a venit cu noi \u015fi o femeie, care a r\u0103mas s\u0103 ne a\u015ftepte jos. \u00cei<\/strong> cump\u0103rase ni\u015fte struguri. Mama mi i-a dat mie \u015fi eu m-am bucurat s\u0103-i m\u0103n\u00e2nc! \u015ei iat\u0103 \u00eenc\u0103 o<\/strong> imagine, din timpul r\u0103zboiului: Un gard de fier, \u00een spatele lui un spital, nu \u015ftiu care, eram prea<\/strong> mic\u0103. Un b\u0103rbat bandajat la g\u00e2t, scoate m\u00e2inile printre barele de fier, m\u0103 m\u00e2ng\u00e2ie pe p\u0103r, eu m\u0103<\/strong> feresc. Nu-l cunosc. E tata, \u00eemi spune mama. Fusese r\u0103nit pe front la g\u00e2t \u015fi \u00eel trimiseser\u0103 acas\u0103.<\/strong>
\n Nu \u00eemplinisem \u015fapte ani c\u00e2nd m-au dat la scoal\u0103. Pe atunci se d\u0103deau ni\u015fte teste de<\/strong> inteligen\u0163\u0103 \u015fi se repartizau elevii \u00een func\u0163ie de rezultate. \u0162in minte c\u00e2t de m\u00e2ndr\u0103 era ea, mama,<\/strong> c\u00e2nd am fost repartizat\u0103 la clasa I A. Mai \u0163in minte \u015fi c\u00e2t de trist\u0103 a fost c\u00e2nd am venit cu nota<\/strong> patru la caligrafie. Nu m-a certat, nu mi-a spus nici o vorba, dar a pl\u00e2ns. Mi-a fost at\u00e2t de jen\u0103,<\/strong> mi-a p\u0103rut at\u00e2t de r\u0103u, am muncit cu at\u00e2ta \u00eend\u00e2rjire s\u0103 scriu frumos, \u00eenc\u00e2t de atunci n-am mai luat<\/strong> alt\u0103 not\u0103 la caligrafie \u00een afar\u0103 de 10. Poate dac\u0103 m-ar fi certat, n-ar fi avut at\u00e2ta efect asupra mea,<\/strong> c\u0103 d-aia nu mai puteam eu, de caligrafie! Nici nu prea cred c\u0103 \u015ftiam eu ce e aia \u015fi dac\u0103 are vreo<\/strong> importan\u0163\u0103 felul \u00een care scrii.<\/strong>
\n C\u00e2nd a murit mama, eram la B\u0103rboi, la \u0163ar\u0103. Sora mamei a venit la Bucure\u015fti \u015fi nu m-a<\/strong> luat \u015fi pe mine. Cred c\u0103 i-a zis tata s\u0103 m\u0103 lase acolo. Ea, m\u0103tu\u015fa, nu \u015ftia s\u0103 citeasc\u0103, a\u015fa c\u0103 mi-a<\/strong> dat mie scrisoarea s\u0103 i-o citesc. \u201cDe-acuma, tu e\u015fti mama ei\u201d \u00eei scria tata, anun\u0163\u00e2nd-o de moartea<\/strong> mamei. \u015ei a\u015fa a fost. A avut grij\u0103 de mine, \u00een numele mamei, p\u00e2n\u0103 s-a stins la r\u00e2ndul ei \u015fi ea. Iar<\/strong>
\n eu, am respectat fraza de mai sus, din scrisoarea lui taic\u0103-meu, cu sfin\u0163enie.<\/strong>
\n Abia dup\u0103 mul\u0163i ani m-am g\u00e2ndit la suferin\u0163a ei, a Mamei care nu-\u015fi mai poate cre\u015fte<\/strong> copilul, pe care e nevoit\u0103 s\u0103-l lase \u00een voia sor\u0163ii la numai zece ani. Pe care nu poate nici m\u0103car<\/strong> s\u0103-l vad\u0103 \u015fi s\u0103-l \u00eembr\u0103\u0163i\u015feze \u00eenainte de moarte. \u00cen copil\u0103rie am dat aten\u0163ie numai durerii mele, de<\/strong> copil singur pe lume, c\u0103 f\u0103r\u0103 mam\u0103 e\u015fti ca \u015fi singur. C\u00e2nd am avut \u015fi eu copil, am realizat c\u0103<\/strong> tragedia \u015fi suferin\u0163a mamei sunt infinit mai mari dec\u00e2t cele ale copilului.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

De fapt, \u00eemi este greu s\u0103 scriu acum despre mama. \u015ei nici nu m-am mai g\u00e2ndit, anume, la<\/strong> ea, de mult timp, dar mi-este mereu prezent\u0103 \u00een subcon\u015ftient. Prin clasa a cincea, la \u0163ar\u0103, ne-a dat<\/strong><\/strong> eterna compunere despre Mam\u0103. Atunci am \u015ftiut ce s\u0103 scriu. Nu \u0163in minte ce am scris, dar<\/strong> profesoara a fost foarte impresionat\u0103 \u015fi a pl\u00e2ns. Eu m-am ru\u015finat c\u0103 mi-am pus sufletul pe tav\u0103,<\/strong>
\n mi s-a p\u0103rut c\u0103 nu se cuvine, c\u0103 e impudic, \u015fi n-am mai f\u0103cut-o niciodat\u0103 de atunci. Nu mi-am<\/strong> mai ar\u0103tat sentimentele \u015fi emo\u0163iile, oric\u00e2t de profunde, de frumoase, de curate au fost ele. Mi-a<\/strong>
\n fost ru\u015fine, de parc\u0103 a\u015f fi ie\u015fit \u00een pielea goal\u0103 \u00een v\u0103zul lumii. M\u0103 sfiesc s\u0103-mi m\u00e2ng\u00e2i copilul, s\u0103mi<\/strong> ar\u0103t iubirea fa\u0163\u0103 de ea, de\u015fi uneori tare mi-a\u015f mai dori s-o str\u00e2ng \u00een bra\u0163e, cum f\u0103ceam \u00een\u00a0copil\u0103ria ei.<\/strong><\/p>\n

De\u015fi nu o ar\u0103t, sunt sigur\u0103 c\u0103 ea simte iubirea mea. Mi-e ru\u015fine s\u0103 m\u0103 duc la ea \u015fi s-o<\/strong> str\u00e2ng la piept a\u015fa, pur \u015fi simplu, de\u015fi adeseori \u00eemi imaginez c\u0103 o fac.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

A\u015fa mi-o aduc \u00een memorie, pe mama, prin reflectarea, ca \u00eentr-o oglind\u0103, a reac\u0163iilor \u015fi<\/strong> sentimentelor celor care au cunoscut-o.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00cemi mai amintesc trei vise pe care le-am avut, tot \u00een copil\u0103rie.<\/strong>
\n \u00cen primul m\u0103 mu\u015fcase un \u015farpe de \u00eencheietura m\u00e2inii. Eram speriat\u0103 r\u0103u, dar a ap\u0103rut<\/strong> mama \u015fi mi-a zis: \u201cStoarce, s\u0103 ias\u0103 veninul\u201d.<\/strong>
\n In urm\u0103torul o g\u0103sesc pe undeva pe mama \u015fi sunt foarte fericit\u0103: \u201cMi-au spus c\u0103 ai murit,<\/em><\/strong> de-aia nu te-am c\u0103utat at\u00e2ta vreme. Dar n-am \u015ftiut c\u0103 m-au min\u0163it<\/em>\u201d.<\/strong>
\n In ultimul, umblu pe aiurea c\u0103ut\u00e2nd-o. O g\u0103sesc \u00eentruchipat\u0103 \u00eentr-un pom de pe marginea<\/strong> drumului \u015fi m\u0103 ghemuiesc fericit\u0103 la r\u0103d\u0103cina lui. ( Visul \u0103sta o fi la baza unui desen \u015fi a unei<\/strong> pl\u0103ci de argil\u0103 unde apare un pom care, \u00een loc de fructe, poart\u0103 pe ramuri copii).<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

Avea doar 36 de ani c\u00e2nd a murit.<\/strong>
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

Poate c\u0103 icoana ei am avut-o \u00een suflet ori de c\u00e2te ori am f\u0103cut vreo lucrare cu Fecioara,<\/strong> sau cu Mama. Dar \u015fi acestora le-a fost dat\u0103 aceea\u015fi soart\u0103: s\u0103 nu le pot termina vreodat\u0103.<\/strong><\/p>\n

(JURNA LAMAR – PROZA SCURTA)<\/p>\n

RODICA ANCA<\/strong><\/p>\n

http:\/\/georgeanca.blogspot.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  RODICA ANCA I L I N C A \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-805","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articole"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/805","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=805"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/805\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=805"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=805"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marianagurza.ro\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=805"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}