It has been a week -- a really crazy one -- since my wonderful Zahorany Easter! The memories of a particular smile, an unexpected treat, the playful fluffiness of a new puppy, the privilege of connecting again with family have all been added to memories of other wonderful times in Zahorany. The pleasures keep piling up. And what a wonderful gift it is that we can treasure people, events, joys, and yes, sorrows of other times. It is easy to understand why Alzheimer's is such a feared diagnosis: the memories we choose to keep and cherish (or which we seem unable to forget) create who we are within ourselves and with others.
It has been more than seventeen years since my first trip over the road going north out of Prague, winding its way through Litomerice, on up to Usti nad Labem, and on through Germany. And it's been seventeen years that I have carried the memory of my first trip past Terezin, one of the infamous Nazi concentration and death camps. And it's been a week in which I cannot shake the impressions and thoughts of yet another trip around the bends in the road right through the middle of Terezin.
Terezin, just around the bend from Litomerice, was built in the late 18th century as a "perfect fortress" for that time, at least. It's never been tested in combat. Part of the town, however, became a prison a century later, and then "earned" a place on the larger canvas of history when the whole town was turned into a Jewish ghetto in early WWII. Not only did "The Little Fortress" become a death camp, the whole town became a transfer station for Jews on their way to death camps all around Europe. Terezin is now just another interesting Bohemian town, this one with more history than most. The camp is now "restored" -- certainly sanitized enough that visitors can bear the awful weight of its history -- and there are indeed markers and memorials to those who lost their lives. It is a large site, still the mounds of dirt covering the rooms beneath, still the appalling difference between the paths for guards and the ditches for the condemned, still signs of the tracks carrying the freight cars. Several times I've wondered if the overwhelming sadness I feel each time I pass is just fanciful. I think not. Surely such horror and anguish must remain as a reminder somehow, somewhere.
Because I was on a bus without the distraction of good conversation, or perhaps because it had become time for me to notice yet another layer of this horror, I became acutely aware of surrounding churches. One only a block or so away, several others near enough that seeing the nicely landscaped site would have been unavoidable. I know that for the most part the churches were emptied, used for other purposes. They were not places of worship and faith. I've listened to stories as recently as this past week of life during the past 60-70 years. I've heard about the various ways religion was replaced with "state." And yes, I've read the works of and the stories about clergy, theologians, philosophers, and ordinary / extraordinary people such as Elie Wiesel so that I've gained even a small understanding of some of the enormity of their choices, the incredible manner in which their beliefs held fast.
Someone taught me a few years ago that the power is in the question. There are enormous questions remaining in this for me. One is the ability of world leaders to forget so quickly the lessons of the past or to believe so arrogantly that what was wrong and evil for others is necessary and/or excused for them. Another is the rise of those who would simply revise history, either because they cannot or will not allow themselves to admit even a small portion of connection to the horrors of the past or the possibility of repetition.
That's all the big stuff. I am still dealing with the small stuff. What would I have done? Who would I be, living in such terrible circumstances? How would I act and react, for myself, for those I love, and for others I do not even know. What do I really believe? Who am I?
It is said that someone asked Eleanor Roosevelt at a particularly trying time in her life if she believed a person should "forgive and forget". Her response was this: Of course we should forgive. We should not forget. It is our memories that shape us and make us who we are.
I'm old enough to remember parts of this history, protected enough that it is not personal, and hopeful enough that somehow, sometime we can incorporate memory into our planning, we can raise our standard of acceptability, not repeat the past we appear to have forgotten.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Happy Easter(n)
Happy Easter to you -- or vesele Velikonece. Not long after arriving someone told several of us about the tradition of men whipping (the actual word used was "beating") women with sticks at Easter. That, of course, raised more than a bit of curiosity! My first response was "Not me they won't!"
So many questions, so few answers! First one -- in a country that certainly is not strongly religious, why would Easter Monday be a public holiday? I've come from the Bible Belt where Good Friday gets a fair amount of recognition, but Easter Monday? Another -- how to make sense of the variety of what appear to be folk customs and traditions which seemingly have no connection to Easter as I know it. Not opposed, mind you, just curious! And still the big one -- whipping? And receiving gaily decorated eggs in return?
To pass along the little I've learned. Easter here is quite a mix of traditions and customs which pre-date Christianity. And the customs are observed mostly in villages and small towns. And that is just where I've spent Easter!
At last -- a trip to Zahorany, Dasa's home village, to spend two days with her mother and brothers. It was a wonderful reunion for me, one that I wasn't sure would ever happen. And I've treasured every moment of it. With the use of my trusty Czech-English dictionary (which has spent other happy hours in their home) we had a great time. The hugs at the bus station in Litomerice were a treat in themselves (and seemed to have some mutual relief that at last we were together again, bad health and miles not interfering), and it only got better. Every meal incredible traditional Czech cooking (waaaay too much food, but every bite marvelous), smiles and nods to the stories of our shared grandson/nephew, company dropping by and staying for hours (people still do that in villages when it's obvious something a bit out of the ordinary is happening!) long restful sleep under the cozy duvet, and endless offers of more kava (coffee), caj (tea), pivo (beer), vino (I don't need to tell you that, do I?), vadu (water). And especially the time spent just enjoying being together.
AND watching the snow! All day Easter it snowed. Most of the time the temperature was just warm enough that it stuck only a few minutes. And it varied from a heavy fall of huge flakes to a general drifting of smaller ones and back again to large and heavy. All day!
Another treat was that each day Dasa and Michael called to see how things were going, offer any translation or information needed, and generally to stay in touch. Both babickas (not sure the plural, my Czech is only a tad better than when I arrived, but it is two grandmothers) in the same house. It was great, and I must admit how cared for I felt/feel. It was in one of those calls that I learned from Dasa that Monday is the BIG DAY, not Sunday. She'd said earlier that the children came around and sang, then received candy/colored eggs, and I really wanted to see that.
Now I know about Easter Monday Zahorany style. During the morning we had a slow but regular stream of visitors, mostly young men who came with their pomlazka (the braided whip which has colorful ribbons tied to the top). Both Dana and I were tapped lightly, then the "older" (it looked like 13/14 and up) males were offered their choice of drinks and children were offered eggs and candy. It was indeed a treat to see and yes, my resistance is now lowered, tho' I still wonder about the source of this beating thing! One other note -- yes, about four hours later I happened to see a neighbor male being guided back to his home fence. Instinct told me that would be the result of all that "elbow bending." Good thing there was no need for designated drivers. I'm certain none could have been found.
I'd been invited for Monday lunch by Dasa's aunt and uncle. Again, a happy reunion. And at the same time, sad. This also is a traditional Czech home, one which has been lovingly cared for and updated over many years. The disastrous floods of 2002 and 2005/6 devastated it all, the second one just after they'd finished restoration from the first. Just across the street and down a steep embankment is the Labe River, probably better know to you as the Elbe, which is its name in Germany. It's running full now -- I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to watch it come right across the street and keep going several feet deep through your home. They have yet again cleaned and restored, which is not an easy task at any age, and surely not in your 70s!
And oh my goodness -- again, what a meal. Highlight? I not only thoroughly enjoyed eating but also got to watch the making of brambory (potato) knedlicky (dumplings). Oh me oh my! It took me right back to the days of my grandmother teaching me to make noodles. Start with flour (in this case boiled, grated potatoes) on a board, make a well for the eggs, etc., etc. While the meal was being prepared, a five-year-old neighbor girl arrived with her willow twigs and her well-rehearsed song/poem. Once launched into her first word, there was no stopping, no breath, no smile, just full steam ahead. SO cute!
Just in case I might be hungry (you're kidding, right?) there were two marvelous appetizers. Since I'm definitely not a novice at this, I knew enough to be polite (one) and disciplined (no more)! The meal starter? A marvelous light soup. Then on to roast duck, knedlicky, red or white sauerkraut, followed by Turkish coffee and mazanec, a traditional Easter cake. Again, the constant enjoyment of communicating every way possible! And loving every minute of it.
Really, this isn't a food column! It is, however, passing along my appreciation for the hospitality and my recognition of the gift of sharing bread and the "best of the house" with those you love and who love you, just because. . . . What a lovely weekend, what a special way to recognize life on Easter weekend.
The trip back to the bus station and to Prague was uneventful, made all the right choices to get to my own door, nice when you're a very uncertain transplant! Standing room only on the bus (knew this was probably the weekend for a reserved seat).
It's back to the routine, to everyday life as I know it (wonder if it was like that for the disciples?) And to you -- a wish for a year of new life, new adventures, new ways of finding and sharing love.
Oh yes -- Happy Eastern? Don't have a clue, but that is the Czech wish to friends. Certainly did take me by surprise the first time I heard it. Thought I'd misunderstood. Now I've heard it quite a few times -- I am blessed to have wonderful new friends here -- even received it as a wish in a text on my phone! So I've not heard incorrectly. It's Happy Eastern! To you and you and you.
So many questions, so few answers! First one -- in a country that certainly is not strongly religious, why would Easter Monday be a public holiday? I've come from the Bible Belt where Good Friday gets a fair amount of recognition, but Easter Monday? Another -- how to make sense of the variety of what appear to be folk customs and traditions which seemingly have no connection to Easter as I know it. Not opposed, mind you, just curious! And still the big one -- whipping? And receiving gaily decorated eggs in return?
To pass along the little I've learned. Easter here is quite a mix of traditions and customs which pre-date Christianity. And the customs are observed mostly in villages and small towns. And that is just where I've spent Easter!
At last -- a trip to Zahorany, Dasa's home village, to spend two days with her mother and brothers. It was a wonderful reunion for me, one that I wasn't sure would ever happen. And I've treasured every moment of it. With the use of my trusty Czech-English dictionary (which has spent other happy hours in their home) we had a great time. The hugs at the bus station in Litomerice were a treat in themselves (and seemed to have some mutual relief that at last we were together again, bad health and miles not interfering), and it only got better. Every meal incredible traditional Czech cooking (waaaay too much food, but every bite marvelous), smiles and nods to the stories of our shared grandson/nephew, company dropping by and staying for hours (people still do that in villages when it's obvious something a bit out of the ordinary is happening!) long restful sleep under the cozy duvet, and endless offers of more kava (coffee), caj (tea), pivo (beer), vino (I don't need to tell you that, do I?), vadu (water). And especially the time spent just enjoying being together.
AND watching the snow! All day Easter it snowed. Most of the time the temperature was just warm enough that it stuck only a few minutes. And it varied from a heavy fall of huge flakes to a general drifting of smaller ones and back again to large and heavy. All day!
Another treat was that each day Dasa and Michael called to see how things were going, offer any translation or information needed, and generally to stay in touch. Both babickas (not sure the plural, my Czech is only a tad better than when I arrived, but it is two grandmothers) in the same house. It was great, and I must admit how cared for I felt/feel. It was in one of those calls that I learned from Dasa that Monday is the BIG DAY, not Sunday. She'd said earlier that the children came around and sang, then received candy/colored eggs, and I really wanted to see that.
Now I know about Easter Monday Zahorany style. During the morning we had a slow but regular stream of visitors, mostly young men who came with their pomlazka (the braided whip which has colorful ribbons tied to the top). Both Dana and I were tapped lightly, then the "older" (it looked like 13/14 and up) males were offered their choice of drinks and children were offered eggs and candy. It was indeed a treat to see and yes, my resistance is now lowered, tho' I still wonder about the source of this beating thing! One other note -- yes, about four hours later I happened to see a neighbor male being guided back to his home fence. Instinct told me that would be the result of all that "elbow bending." Good thing there was no need for designated drivers. I'm certain none could have been found.
I'd been invited for Monday lunch by Dasa's aunt and uncle. Again, a happy reunion. And at the same time, sad. This also is a traditional Czech home, one which has been lovingly cared for and updated over many years. The disastrous floods of 2002 and 2005/6 devastated it all, the second one just after they'd finished restoration from the first. Just across the street and down a steep embankment is the Labe River, probably better know to you as the Elbe, which is its name in Germany. It's running full now -- I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to watch it come right across the street and keep going several feet deep through your home. They have yet again cleaned and restored, which is not an easy task at any age, and surely not in your 70s!
And oh my goodness -- again, what a meal. Highlight? I not only thoroughly enjoyed eating but also got to watch the making of brambory (potato) knedlicky (dumplings). Oh me oh my! It took me right back to the days of my grandmother teaching me to make noodles. Start with flour (in this case boiled, grated potatoes) on a board, make a well for the eggs, etc., etc. While the meal was being prepared, a five-year-old neighbor girl arrived with her willow twigs and her well-rehearsed song/poem. Once launched into her first word, there was no stopping, no breath, no smile, just full steam ahead. SO cute!
Just in case I might be hungry (you're kidding, right?) there were two marvelous appetizers. Since I'm definitely not a novice at this, I knew enough to be polite (one) and disciplined (no more)! The meal starter? A marvelous light soup. Then on to roast duck, knedlicky, red or white sauerkraut, followed by Turkish coffee and mazanec, a traditional Easter cake. Again, the constant enjoyment of communicating every way possible! And loving every minute of it.
Really, this isn't a food column! It is, however, passing along my appreciation for the hospitality and my recognition of the gift of sharing bread and the "best of the house" with those you love and who love you, just because. . . . What a lovely weekend, what a special way to recognize life on Easter weekend.
The trip back to the bus station and to Prague was uneventful, made all the right choices to get to my own door, nice when you're a very uncertain transplant! Standing room only on the bus (knew this was probably the weekend for a reserved seat).
It's back to the routine, to everyday life as I know it (wonder if it was like that for the disciples?) And to you -- a wish for a year of new life, new adventures, new ways of finding and sharing love.
Oh yes -- Happy Eastern? Don't have a clue, but that is the Czech wish to friends. Certainly did take me by surprise the first time I heard it. Thought I'd misunderstood. Now I've heard it quite a few times -- I am blessed to have wonderful new friends here -- even received it as a wish in a text on my phone! So I've not heard incorrectly. It's Happy Eastern! To you and you and you.
Friday, March 21, 2008
One of these things . . .
is not like the other.
Are you fortunate enough to have a bit of Sesame Street in your background? I certainly am. And a song that keeps playing in my head is "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong." It was a great guessing game while watching the program. It's just not so easy now.
It's not easy even if the topic is broadened to "similar and different." This gives the opportunity for a larger grouping, and with those two headings, everything could belong. It's definitely not so exclusionary! Whatever, whoever, you belong, you are in one of them.
Right now it is tough to keep up with the weather. One day it is spring. I remember what that is like; I know the checklist for a spring day. Bright, clear, Tarheel-blue sky, fluffy clouds, and of course the forsythia spreading cheer everywhere they've been allowed to root. And yes, we have had some of those days. Really magnificent. I don't understand how light is filtered differently in each of the seasons, but those days do lend an extra glow to even the most ordinary of buildings here.
Then there is the checklist for winter. And it is definitely different. Leaden skies, dense clouds that look like a dark tarp instead of individual formations, wind that whips around corners and seems to glue your feet to the cobblestones. And let's not forget the snow. Tiny flakes, huge flakes, gentle, or so heavy it is nearly impossible to see the buildings across the street.
There's a normal progression of things -- seasons follow each other, usually with a few days out of order to remind us what has been and what will come. Then there are the past few days. No normal progression with this! Read for a few minutes, then lift your eyes to a totally white world. Get on a tram feeling frozen, then get off a few stops later to brilliant sunshine. It has been amazing to watch.
I remember my first few years in NC hearing someone say "but this weather is really unusual" so often the phrase called attention to itself and made me wonder if a "usual" existed. And now - - - You guessed it! I'm hearing "this weather is really unusual" again. And I am off balance. The calendar says it is spring; the weather feels like the coldest yet, and it is definitely the most days of wind/snow for me. It "just doesn't belong."
There are always the moments when people seem to gravitate to one category or another. It is very difficult to forget the older man who fell getting onto a tram. Although Pragers will say of themselves they are very private, I will add they are also very polite, very helpful to those who need it, and appear either to withhold judgments or at least keep them private. As the man missed the step and stumbled over, three men immediately moved to help him. When it became apparent the fall was caused by way too much to drink, the assistance did not change. The same concern, the same care. It was easy to determine which behavior was "different". And the "similar" group is large: a quick response when help is needed -- a seat, a door, a little extra time.
And there are always the buildings! "Not like the others" is an understatement when used to describe the "Dancing House" at the edge of the Vlatava, just down the street from the Charles Bridge. (If you're curious, check out Dancing House on Wikipedia -- where else, of course, then click the first link for a 360 degree panoramic photo. It's awesome!). It was begun in 1992, has won architectural awards, and seems to be settling into the skyline and landscape just fine.
The Charles Bridge fits in both categories. It's definitely different -- one of a kind, almost mythic proportions to me. It's hard for my American mind/perspective to imagine taking for granted something which has been in place since the middle of the 14th century. And I still cannot walk over it without marveling at its past and being curious about its stories. At the same time it is similar -- it is just "one more bridge" over the river, altho' the only one with only foot traffic; its lines fit right into all the "newcomers" which surround it; and it is utilitarian -- a shortcut to get from one side to the other and a link between two very similar settings. Buildings which are centuries old inhabited by companies and people who are very much 21st century.
The list is endless -- so many little moments which jump into one group or another, then others which require considerable thought to find some semblance of order. Perhaps the grace and charm of "similar and different" is that we are allowed to move, sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not so easily, from one group to another, even if only in our own minds.
It's time to make sense of another day -- what is similar, what is different, and what are my choices.
Are you fortunate enough to have a bit of Sesame Street in your background? I certainly am. And a song that keeps playing in my head is "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong." It was a great guessing game while watching the program. It's just not so easy now.
It's not easy even if the topic is broadened to "similar and different." This gives the opportunity for a larger grouping, and with those two headings, everything could belong. It's definitely not so exclusionary! Whatever, whoever, you belong, you are in one of them.
Right now it is tough to keep up with the weather. One day it is spring. I remember what that is like; I know the checklist for a spring day. Bright, clear, Tarheel-blue sky, fluffy clouds, and of course the forsythia spreading cheer everywhere they've been allowed to root. And yes, we have had some of those days. Really magnificent. I don't understand how light is filtered differently in each of the seasons, but those days do lend an extra glow to even the most ordinary of buildings here.
Then there is the checklist for winter. And it is definitely different. Leaden skies, dense clouds that look like a dark tarp instead of individual formations, wind that whips around corners and seems to glue your feet to the cobblestones. And let's not forget the snow. Tiny flakes, huge flakes, gentle, or so heavy it is nearly impossible to see the buildings across the street.
There's a normal progression of things -- seasons follow each other, usually with a few days out of order to remind us what has been and what will come. Then there are the past few days. No normal progression with this! Read for a few minutes, then lift your eyes to a totally white world. Get on a tram feeling frozen, then get off a few stops later to brilliant sunshine. It has been amazing to watch.
I remember my first few years in NC hearing someone say "but this weather is really unusual" so often the phrase called attention to itself and made me wonder if a "usual" existed. And now - - - You guessed it! I'm hearing "this weather is really unusual" again. And I am off balance. The calendar says it is spring; the weather feels like the coldest yet, and it is definitely the most days of wind/snow for me. It "just doesn't belong."
There are always the moments when people seem to gravitate to one category or another. It is very difficult to forget the older man who fell getting onto a tram. Although Pragers will say of themselves they are very private, I will add they are also very polite, very helpful to those who need it, and appear either to withhold judgments or at least keep them private. As the man missed the step and stumbled over, three men immediately moved to help him. When it became apparent the fall was caused by way too much to drink, the assistance did not change. The same concern, the same care. It was easy to determine which behavior was "different". And the "similar" group is large: a quick response when help is needed -- a seat, a door, a little extra time.
And there are always the buildings! "Not like the others" is an understatement when used to describe the "Dancing House" at the edge of the Vlatava, just down the street from the Charles Bridge. (If you're curious, check out Dancing House on Wikipedia -- where else, of course, then click the first link for a 360 degree panoramic photo. It's awesome!). It was begun in 1992, has won architectural awards, and seems to be settling into the skyline and landscape just fine.
The Charles Bridge fits in both categories. It's definitely different -- one of a kind, almost mythic proportions to me. It's hard for my American mind/perspective to imagine taking for granted something which has been in place since the middle of the 14th century. And I still cannot walk over it without marveling at its past and being curious about its stories. At the same time it is similar -- it is just "one more bridge" over the river, altho' the only one with only foot traffic; its lines fit right into all the "newcomers" which surround it; and it is utilitarian -- a shortcut to get from one side to the other and a link between two very similar settings. Buildings which are centuries old inhabited by companies and people who are very much 21st century.
The list is endless -- so many little moments which jump into one group or another, then others which require considerable thought to find some semblance of order. Perhaps the grace and charm of "similar and different" is that we are allowed to move, sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not so easily, from one group to another, even if only in our own minds.
It's time to make sense of another day -- what is similar, what is different, and what are my choices.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Gifts of the Day
Have you ever counted how many times a day you were given an unexpected gift? I've not counted, but I've certainly been gifted. Here are just a few - - -
A shy, beautiful smile from a young Czech girl across the aisle from me on the tram. She wasn't more than 5 or 6, she was very quiet, and when I happened to look her way, she was already looking at me. I don't know -- maybe it's that I do look funny wearing Birkenstocks with a heavy winter coat, maybe I look American even when I try very hard to fit in, or maybe she just knew that I would be charmed. I hope it was the latter. As soon as we made eye contact, she gave me a smile that seemed to come from a very private place way down inside her. It wasn't broad, it wasn't bold. It didn't fade quickly nor seem embarrassed to be seen. And it surely was real. What a gift!
Two lovely white birds (could they be doves?) resting on the bare black branches outside my wonderful big Czech window. They had their secret agreements -- when to come, how long to stay, when to go. But for those few moments, they brought life to a tree waiting patiently for a bit more sunshine and warmer weather. I have no idea who else may have been watching, but right then, they were mine.
Someone I scarcely know going out of her way to help locate some long-term accommodation for me. No reason, no payoff, no "extra points" with someone else. Just quietly writing a couple emails, then reporting on the results. It may have been a "give back." I know others have done that for her. But giving back and passing it on are more rare than any of us would wish. I received the gift, and I will pass it on.
Fat buds on a bush at the side of the tram tracks. What a promise! That cold wind WILL be replaced by spring, then summer, then fall, and once again they will have their sleep, then grace us all with a new promise. I do hope others will turn around for just one quick look. It isn't all dark, it can and will change.
The marvelous smile which welcomes me to breakfast each morning that I don't have an early class. How I wish I could speak Czech, could tell her what a gift her presence is in my day. And I'd love to hear the stories she must have to tell. If I could ask, I'm sure she'd say there weren't any that would be interesting. And I just know each of them would be. That little lady -- and she's very short and trim, probably also near my age -- really knows how to light up a room. She doesn't reserve the smile and the greeting for those who look as though they will return it. She almost dares you to keep a straight face. And very few do. When she says "dobre rano" (good morning, first thing in the day) she means it. Not only does she gift you with her smile, she follows it with coffee! What a way to start a day!
Each student who tells me how quickly the time has passed in our session together, whether it's 60 or 120 minutes. It is such hard work to think in another language that long! And then to say that it has seemed a short time. Wow! Makes me want to spend more time finding things I hope will be interesting, I trust will give them the progress they're seeking. And certainly makes me eager for the next session. I really didn't know it could be such a gift to begin again, to put all the past years together in a different way, in a different place.
It is a gift that I am able to share this marvelous adventure with you. Thank you for coming along with me. And especially this day -- look for the gifts in your life. When I turned the alarm off (not willingly, you may be sure) this morning, I never would have guessed one day could be so full of wonder and grace. I'm wishing the same for you
A shy, beautiful smile from a young Czech girl across the aisle from me on the tram. She wasn't more than 5 or 6, she was very quiet, and when I happened to look her way, she was already looking at me. I don't know -- maybe it's that I do look funny wearing Birkenstocks with a heavy winter coat, maybe I look American even when I try very hard to fit in, or maybe she just knew that I would be charmed. I hope it was the latter. As soon as we made eye contact, she gave me a smile that seemed to come from a very private place way down inside her. It wasn't broad, it wasn't bold. It didn't fade quickly nor seem embarrassed to be seen. And it surely was real. What a gift!
Two lovely white birds (could they be doves?) resting on the bare black branches outside my wonderful big Czech window. They had their secret agreements -- when to come, how long to stay, when to go. But for those few moments, they brought life to a tree waiting patiently for a bit more sunshine and warmer weather. I have no idea who else may have been watching, but right then, they were mine.
Someone I scarcely know going out of her way to help locate some long-term accommodation for me. No reason, no payoff, no "extra points" with someone else. Just quietly writing a couple emails, then reporting on the results. It may have been a "give back." I know others have done that for her. But giving back and passing it on are more rare than any of us would wish. I received the gift, and I will pass it on.
Fat buds on a bush at the side of the tram tracks. What a promise! That cold wind WILL be replaced by spring, then summer, then fall, and once again they will have their sleep, then grace us all with a new promise. I do hope others will turn around for just one quick look. It isn't all dark, it can and will change.
The marvelous smile which welcomes me to breakfast each morning that I don't have an early class. How I wish I could speak Czech, could tell her what a gift her presence is in my day. And I'd love to hear the stories she must have to tell. If I could ask, I'm sure she'd say there weren't any that would be interesting. And I just know each of them would be. That little lady -- and she's very short and trim, probably also near my age -- really knows how to light up a room. She doesn't reserve the smile and the greeting for those who look as though they will return it. She almost dares you to keep a straight face. And very few do. When she says "dobre rano" (good morning, first thing in the day) she means it. Not only does she gift you with her smile, she follows it with coffee! What a way to start a day!
Each student who tells me how quickly the time has passed in our session together, whether it's 60 or 120 minutes. It is such hard work to think in another language that long! And then to say that it has seemed a short time. Wow! Makes me want to spend more time finding things I hope will be interesting, I trust will give them the progress they're seeking. And certainly makes me eager for the next session. I really didn't know it could be such a gift to begin again, to put all the past years together in a different way, in a different place.
It is a gift that I am able to share this marvelous adventure with you. Thank you for coming along with me. And especially this day -- look for the gifts in your life. When I turned the alarm off (not willingly, you may be sure) this morning, I never would have guessed one day could be so full of wonder and grace. I'm wishing the same for you
Sunday, March 9, 2008
A Long Night's Walk
Saturday in Prague. And once again a surprise email from a colleague: We're going to the celebration tonight. Meet at 5:30 at the tram stop if you want to come along.
There were a couple things about the situation I knew I could depend on. The first was that I definitely could find my way to and from this tram stop. The second was that these colleagues come up with some great ideas and are great company. Seemed to me that made it an obvious choice, especially since the day had been a bummer. (I'd "lost" a room to rent because I'm not an EU citizen -- a situation not likely to change any time soon!)
Two poor maps -- one with no street names and only driving directions -- and an article from the paper (in English, thank goodness!) got us well on our way - - - - in the wrong direction! Getting there can be part of the fun when you're with the right people. Fortunately, even though their exploration styles are totally different, these were the right people. Three long waits in a pretty brisk wind -- it is definitely still winter here -- and two crowded trams later, we were finally near our destination.
Remember the truism that a woman will ask for directions? Several interesting things happen when there are three women! One learns that there is a special music event every night at 8 at the Municipal House. This is an absolutely gorgeous Art Noveau building with the largest concert hall in Prague (as well as a stunning restaurant). It is also where Czechoslovakia was declared independent in 1918 and, coincidentally, a sight I get to admire twice a week going to and coming from a class, each time with slightly different light showing off the incredible green and gold. So -- first interesting thing learned while getting directions is where to enjoy other great evenings. Another learns that we'll reach our destination (the old fruit market) by going through the Powder Tower (built in 1475 on the site of an 11th century gate, and until 1836 beginning of the route of the Bohemian kings on their way to be crowned at the Castle). Then we need to walk a bit (no surprise there!), turn left, walk some more, and then those infamous and ominous words: "You can't miss it!" Fortunately the third woman (me) was playing eavesdropper, because she'd already heard "I'm not good with directions" from the second woman.
Particularly in the area leading to Old Town Square (this is called The Royal Mile) there is something interesting, or historic, or wonderful, or beautiful, or all of these to see every few steps. The first entry in a Google search for Old Town Square Prague states that if you go there, you'll step back in time 600 or 700 years. That's just what we had come to do! We had come to attend a celebration of an historical event 666 years ago. We were there! Staromestske Namesti -- Old Town Square.
First the fruit market. Hard to miss -- once we came to the right area. Just behind the Estates Theater. I must admit this is the first time in all my walks in this area that I'd been at the back of the Theater. And the back is nearly as beautiful as the front. It was built privately in the early 1780s by a Count and inscribed "To the Native Land and the Muses". When it was joined with the National Theatre, their motto -- The Nation Unto Itself -- was fittingly added. And yes, this is the place where Mozart himself conducted the premiere of Don Giovanni. At this point we knew all we had to do was follow our ears -- right to the stage where a group of musicians in period costumes were performing. The music was period, pleasant, and inviting. Soon, however, we just had to move on and investigate other possibilities.
Down narrow and crooked walkways, always watching for a stray cobblestone that could cause a stumble (sounds a bit like life, to me!), we gazed and gaped our way right into the middle of the Square and the Easter Festival. Booth after booth after booth selling sausages, chocolate, beer, Prague souvenirs, beautifully decorated Czech Easter eggs, a traditional sweet (long ribbons of dough wrapped around a round metal pole and roasted then sugared), nearly anything a vendor thought someone would buy. And more music. In an area totally decorated with colored eggs, festive ribbons, and fabric flowers, a stage had been erected, complete with 21st century lighting and sound system. It was graced with an ensemble of dancers providing a marvelous programme of folk dances. Who could possibly walk away from that?!
And yet, after more than a half hour, we managed to move along, back to the Estates, just in time for a medieval festival, commenorating the 666 years ago. There on the left of the stage was the court, complete with jester. In the middle, entertainment -- fire jugglers, dancers. And on the right, the troubadors. There was even a smattering of translation for those of us not yet initiated! What a show. At the end, the noble and knights mounted horses and clip-clopped their way down the cobblestones while their ladies waved farewell. All in keeping with tradition, it is duly noted!
Who could stop walking at this time? Surely not us. We continued to turn corners, stop here and there to check out good books or test the coffee, or just watch others enjoying themselves.
The night ended earlier for me than it did for the others. Moving toward home seemed more wise than moving onward. I found my way, still walking, to a tram stop much nearer home, one connection less, and at least 30 minutes faster. And yes, it was a bit embarrassing to see how easy it would have been to get there if only we'd known where we were going. (That sounds a bit like life also, doesn't it!)
One more Prague gift. What a night. Shortly after I reached my warm room, the fireworks began. This time I knew the reason. And I could join in celebrating that Prague was established, that it has come through all its twists and turns to this era, that for a little space it can be "mine", and I am blessed to enjoy it with friends.
There were a couple things about the situation I knew I could depend on. The first was that I definitely could find my way to and from this tram stop. The second was that these colleagues come up with some great ideas and are great company. Seemed to me that made it an obvious choice, especially since the day had been a bummer. (I'd "lost" a room to rent because I'm not an EU citizen -- a situation not likely to change any time soon!)
Two poor maps -- one with no street names and only driving directions -- and an article from the paper (in English, thank goodness!) got us well on our way - - - - in the wrong direction! Getting there can be part of the fun when you're with the right people. Fortunately, even though their exploration styles are totally different, these were the right people. Three long waits in a pretty brisk wind -- it is definitely still winter here -- and two crowded trams later, we were finally near our destination.
Remember the truism that a woman will ask for directions? Several interesting things happen when there are three women! One learns that there is a special music event every night at 8 at the Municipal House. This is an absolutely gorgeous Art Noveau building with the largest concert hall in Prague (as well as a stunning restaurant). It is also where Czechoslovakia was declared independent in 1918 and, coincidentally, a sight I get to admire twice a week going to and coming from a class, each time with slightly different light showing off the incredible green and gold. So -- first interesting thing learned while getting directions is where to enjoy other great evenings. Another learns that we'll reach our destination (the old fruit market) by going through the Powder Tower (built in 1475 on the site of an 11th century gate, and until 1836 beginning of the route of the Bohemian kings on their way to be crowned at the Castle). Then we need to walk a bit (no surprise there!), turn left, walk some more, and then those infamous and ominous words: "You can't miss it!" Fortunately the third woman (me) was playing eavesdropper, because she'd already heard "I'm not good with directions" from the second woman.
Particularly in the area leading to Old Town Square (this is called The Royal Mile) there is something interesting, or historic, or wonderful, or beautiful, or all of these to see every few steps. The first entry in a Google search for Old Town Square Prague states that if you go there, you'll step back in time 600 or 700 years. That's just what we had come to do! We had come to attend a celebration of an historical event 666 years ago. We were there! Staromestske Namesti -- Old Town Square.
First the fruit market. Hard to miss -- once we came to the right area. Just behind the Estates Theater. I must admit this is the first time in all my walks in this area that I'd been at the back of the Theater. And the back is nearly as beautiful as the front. It was built privately in the early 1780s by a Count and inscribed "To the Native Land and the Muses". When it was joined with the National Theatre, their motto -- The Nation Unto Itself -- was fittingly added. And yes, this is the place where Mozart himself conducted the premiere of Don Giovanni. At this point we knew all we had to do was follow our ears -- right to the stage where a group of musicians in period costumes were performing. The music was period, pleasant, and inviting. Soon, however, we just had to move on and investigate other possibilities.
Down narrow and crooked walkways, always watching for a stray cobblestone that could cause a stumble (sounds a bit like life, to me!), we gazed and gaped our way right into the middle of the Square and the Easter Festival. Booth after booth after booth selling sausages, chocolate, beer, Prague souvenirs, beautifully decorated Czech Easter eggs, a traditional sweet (long ribbons of dough wrapped around a round metal pole and roasted then sugared), nearly anything a vendor thought someone would buy. And more music. In an area totally decorated with colored eggs, festive ribbons, and fabric flowers, a stage had been erected, complete with 21st century lighting and sound system. It was graced with an ensemble of dancers providing a marvelous programme of folk dances. Who could possibly walk away from that?!
And yet, after more than a half hour, we managed to move along, back to the Estates, just in time for a medieval festival, commenorating the 666 years ago. There on the left of the stage was the court, complete with jester. In the middle, entertainment -- fire jugglers, dancers. And on the right, the troubadors. There was even a smattering of translation for those of us not yet initiated! What a show. At the end, the noble and knights mounted horses and clip-clopped their way down the cobblestones while their ladies waved farewell. All in keeping with tradition, it is duly noted!
Who could stop walking at this time? Surely not us. We continued to turn corners, stop here and there to check out good books or test the coffee, or just watch others enjoying themselves.
The night ended earlier for me than it did for the others. Moving toward home seemed more wise than moving onward. I found my way, still walking, to a tram stop much nearer home, one connection less, and at least 30 minutes faster. And yes, it was a bit embarrassing to see how easy it would have been to get there if only we'd known where we were going. (That sounds a bit like life also, doesn't it!)
One more Prague gift. What a night. Shortly after I reached my warm room, the fireworks began. This time I knew the reason. And I could join in celebrating that Prague was established, that it has come through all its twists and turns to this era, that for a little space it can be "mine", and I am blessed to enjoy it with friends.
Friday, March 7, 2008
She shall have music . . .
Prague is a city of music. From 1990 till now organ concerts are a hallmark of the city to me.
I remember a sign outside the Town Hall for visitors to the Astronomical Clock (Wikipedia will come through for you again, if you're interested) welcoming anyone who would like to come to a free organ concert upstairs. Small room, lovely tracker organ, good organist. What a way to invest an hour!
And not far away at an ornate Baroque church, big sound in a big space -- beautiful music by talented artists, donations cheerfully accepted. Many nights were spent there just enjoying the marvelous sounds.
And now - - more of the same, in yet another magnificent setting. This time the Basilica of St. Margaret at the Brevnov Monastery. Wikipedia says the Monastery is "an oasis of calm." It is that and so much more. Last Sunday it was a little bit of heaven.
For starters -- the organ was built in 1725! Can you begin to imagine how many fingers have touched those keys? Think of the peace and turmoil it has overseen. This is a place where records of those suspected of being opposed to Communism were kept in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. It's the place where Maria Therese always began her royal visit to the city, where monks and nuns had to become "secular" and provide "useful services" (teaching/nursing) when the ruling power was anti-church.
And through all these years, this has been and remains a "perfect" organ for Bach -- and Bach it gave. There were a couple of his near-contemporaries represented also, and at the end a "service" work (Prelude, Introit, Graduals, Offertory) written by an organist who died at the age of 80 just last year.
Several musical surprises: most of the numbers were "introduced" by a solo portion of the work. The voices could not have been better for the space -- clear, sailing out over the audience. Each solo seemed better than the previous one. Lovely little gems decorating the whole. BIG surprise -- there was a line with some of the numbers which indicated that the organist was also improvising. We're not talking "I didn't practice, so I'll just play anything that seems to fit." We're talking really beautiful music, well done, absolutely in keeping with the original. What a gift!
When they took their bows from the loft (and it is waaaaay up!) I learned the organist has also seen a lot of changes -- he is definitely part of an older generation.
Now put all this glorious music with its magnificent sound in a space that is so decorated and embellished that you never run out of something new to enjoy. Well, Prague continues to delight the ear.
It wouldn't be fair to my local "soloist" if s/he were not included in the wonderful music of Prague. Just outside my window is the home of a bird whose song is very new to me. Have not yet found the bird -- it's still just an anonymous song. But what a way to start a day!
What a gift for each of us -- music wherever we go.
I remember a sign outside the Town Hall for visitors to the Astronomical Clock (Wikipedia will come through for you again, if you're interested) welcoming anyone who would like to come to a free organ concert upstairs. Small room, lovely tracker organ, good organist. What a way to invest an hour!
And not far away at an ornate Baroque church, big sound in a big space -- beautiful music by talented artists, donations cheerfully accepted. Many nights were spent there just enjoying the marvelous sounds.
And now - - more of the same, in yet another magnificent setting. This time the Basilica of St. Margaret at the Brevnov Monastery. Wikipedia says the Monastery is "an oasis of calm." It is that and so much more. Last Sunday it was a little bit of heaven.
For starters -- the organ was built in 1725! Can you begin to imagine how many fingers have touched those keys? Think of the peace and turmoil it has overseen. This is a place where records of those suspected of being opposed to Communism were kept in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. It's the place where Maria Therese always began her royal visit to the city, where monks and nuns had to become "secular" and provide "useful services" (teaching/nursing) when the ruling power was anti-church.
And through all these years, this has been and remains a "perfect" organ for Bach -- and Bach it gave. There were a couple of his near-contemporaries represented also, and at the end a "service" work (Prelude, Introit, Graduals, Offertory) written by an organist who died at the age of 80 just last year.
Several musical surprises: most of the numbers were "introduced" by a solo portion of the work. The voices could not have been better for the space -- clear, sailing out over the audience. Each solo seemed better than the previous one. Lovely little gems decorating the whole. BIG surprise -- there was a line with some of the numbers which indicated that the organist was also improvising. We're not talking "I didn't practice, so I'll just play anything that seems to fit." We're talking really beautiful music, well done, absolutely in keeping with the original. What a gift!
When they took their bows from the loft (and it is waaaaay up!) I learned the organist has also seen a lot of changes -- he is definitely part of an older generation.
Now put all this glorious music with its magnificent sound in a space that is so decorated and embellished that you never run out of something new to enjoy. Well, Prague continues to delight the ear.
It wouldn't be fair to my local "soloist" if s/he were not included in the wonderful music of Prague. Just outside my window is the home of a bird whose song is very new to me. Have not yet found the bird -- it's still just an anonymous song. But what a way to start a day!
What a gift for each of us -- music wherever we go.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Eye Contact
A comment was made at supper last week by one of my new Aussie friends about the difficult time she was having meeting "available" men. There was, of course, quite a detailed discussion about why that might be. She's traveled in many countries, and this seemed to be a "local" phenomenon. The best answer we could come up with collectively is that it has something to do with lack of eye contact.
Now I must admit I wasn't terribly involved in that discussion other than some active listening. But it did make me much more aware of interactions with others each day, all day. Two other events during the week made me even more aware of how easy it is to see "our" way of doing things as the right way, which of course puts everyone else in the position of being wrong, whether they are members of our own culture or not. So I've been on a research project of my own the past few days.
There are two things I especially enjoy about riding the tram: watching the buildings/architecture/neighborhoods and watching the people. It is fascinating to see the shifts -- no eye contact -- as each stop approaches. Who's getting off? Who's targeting the next available empty seat? Who's resigned to staying in place? I'd say I'm about at 95% for correct guesses, maybe even a bit higher. Then there's the surge out and the onslaught in. Eye contact goes up just a bit. Can I get that person to move over? Is this the best place for me to stand? Where do I have the best chance of snagging a seat at the next stop?
A very noticeable cultural difference between being on public transportation in Prague and American cities I've experienced is how common it is for people of all ages to offer a seat to another person who is older, having more difficulty getting around, or just seems to need it. This difference was actually stunning when I first arrived. And here is where the eye contact goes way up! "Please, take this seat." "Thank you for offering your seat." Face-to-face, eye to eye. Usually accompanied by a verbal please and thank you. (Eye contact is absolutely nonexistent when there's no intention whatsoever of getting up!)
Young children seek and hold eye contact; teenagers avoid it. Young couples maintain eye contact with each other to the exclusion of the rest of the world -- a pretty universal tradition. And watching their eyes is a good way gauge the joy/peace factor in long-term couples.
Back to the Aussie's question. What's the cultural norm for eye contact in Prague? (And I surely wouldn't be foolish enough to generalize this for everyone here or everywhere in the Czech Republic.) I think it feels right/better to do much less of it than I'm used to. Eyes down or looking into the distance seems to be the better action. I wish I knew if it's seeking/providing privacy, if it's about protecting oneself from others, or just a learned behavior.
I'll continue my "research." And I will continue to sneak a glance. At the same time, I'll try to see as much as possible, miss as little as possible, and grab every opportunity to connect when possible.
Now I must admit I wasn't terribly involved in that discussion other than some active listening. But it did make me much more aware of interactions with others each day, all day. Two other events during the week made me even more aware of how easy it is to see "our" way of doing things as the right way, which of course puts everyone else in the position of being wrong, whether they are members of our own culture or not. So I've been on a research project of my own the past few days.
There are two things I especially enjoy about riding the tram: watching the buildings/architecture/neighborhoods and watching the people. It is fascinating to see the shifts -- no eye contact -- as each stop approaches. Who's getting off? Who's targeting the next available empty seat? Who's resigned to staying in place? I'd say I'm about at 95% for correct guesses, maybe even a bit higher. Then there's the surge out and the onslaught in. Eye contact goes up just a bit. Can I get that person to move over? Is this the best place for me to stand? Where do I have the best chance of snagging a seat at the next stop?
A very noticeable cultural difference between being on public transportation in Prague and American cities I've experienced is how common it is for people of all ages to offer a seat to another person who is older, having more difficulty getting around, or just seems to need it. This difference was actually stunning when I first arrived. And here is where the eye contact goes way up! "Please, take this seat." "Thank you for offering your seat." Face-to-face, eye to eye. Usually accompanied by a verbal please and thank you. (Eye contact is absolutely nonexistent when there's no intention whatsoever of getting up!)
Young children seek and hold eye contact; teenagers avoid it. Young couples maintain eye contact with each other to the exclusion of the rest of the world -- a pretty universal tradition. And watching their eyes is a good way gauge the joy/peace factor in long-term couples.
Back to the Aussie's question. What's the cultural norm for eye contact in Prague? (And I surely wouldn't be foolish enough to generalize this for everyone here or everywhere in the Czech Republic.) I think it feels right/better to do much less of it than I'm used to. Eyes down or looking into the distance seems to be the better action. I wish I knew if it's seeking/providing privacy, if it's about protecting oneself from others, or just a learned behavior.
I'll continue my "research." And I will continue to sneak a glance. At the same time, I'll try to see as much as possible, miss as little as possible, and grab every opportunity to connect when possible.
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