Random thoughts have been fighting for space in my brain lately. They seem to pop up at unexpected times and inappropriate places. And because this is the place and way I can share my journey with you, as well as keep a bit of a journal for myself, this evening seems to be the time to bring some order to the cranial chaos. It also is a way to share some of the mixed feelings and unexpected pleasures of every day. This is not inclusive, it certainly is not rank ordered, and I know the minute I click "publish post" I will think of at least five other things that should have been included somewhere.
Things I miss:
-- Family
-- Friends
-- Quick and not-so-quick phone conversations with friends and family
-- A microwave
-- My own washer and dryer. (The laundromat's a great place. I meet fascinating people there. It is, however, also a bit of a hassle and takes time and energy, rain or shine.)
-- Being able to read the directions on the things I buy!
-- Hugging grandsons (and their parents, of course)
-- My car
-- Knowing where to get good, inexpensive food on the run (not necessarily the same thing as take out.)
-- Being connected with the everyday changes in the lives of those I love and miss
Things I love:
-- Radishes and kohlrabi as a snack or a "crunchy" in my lunch bag
-- The unknown songs of unseen birds
-- Life without a car in a place that knows how to do public transportation!
-- Watching the sky change from Carolina blue to storm gray in a matter of minutes
-- Watching Czech children on the tram and on the street
-- Ever present, ever available (darn it) Czech sweets
-- A feeling of belonging
-- New friends
-- Being comfortable in each moment, listening to my own unknown song
Things I'm grateful for:
-- This place and this moment in my life
-- Feeling that I am making a positive contribution in the lives of others
-- Being able to wake up and move out each morning
-- The technology which makes it seem as though the life I left behind isn't really so far away
-- The colors of Prague
-- Milton's blog as it nourishes my spirit at unexpected moments
-- Keeping the pace (mostly)
-- The view of my courtyard
-- All the promises of each tomorrow
-- The support of family and friends, whether they agree with me or not (and even if they think I'm crazy!)
This isn't the end, it's just a beginning. It's just a minor dent in all the things that could/should be included on these lists. Most of all, I'm grateful for the gift of each new day and the chance to continue learning, to keep adjusting my view and testing my values, to see another new slice of life as others see it. I hope you are enjoying the same gift, wherever you are.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Come Along With Me - -
we're on a stroll through history -- that's really just a beautiful Sunday afternoon ride and walk from my neighborhood to Stare Mesto (Old Town Square) and back. I still cannot become used to (nor do I ever want to take for granted) walking past buildings whose guardian statues have been looking down through generations of change. Or coming upon a wall or street plaque commemorating someone whose life is scarcely noticed now but who made an important sacrifice or contribution in another generation or century. Or seeing yet another little gem of a building, all "dressed up" with its colors and decorations, just quietly maintaining its own space. And I love watching others enjoy the surroundings. I must admit that sometimes I'd love to say "look up, you just missed something incredibly beautiful".
Today almost brought me to Strahov Monastery for several reasons. The first is that I've never been there. And I know it is a "must see." It has been a monastery since 1143; Mozart "improvised on its organ in 1787"; there's an incredible collection of art and literature maintained through the fires, sieges, and religious changes. AND it has its own brewery (and label) in operation with one short break since the 12th century with a good, inexpensive pub/restaurant. All good reasons to make the trip.
But not today. Today had to be an outside day after yet another string of cold wet days. The obvious choice was Old Town Square, yet again (and again and again), also for several reasons. One was the need of new reading material, and there's a good little bookstore tucked away with lots of used English language books. Another was curiosity. Every visit has something new to watch/hear/learn.
To digress just a bit - - - Friday evening I went to a congratulations-on-your-new-job for a young Czech colleague. She's leaving teaching for the newspaper world, and about 30 folks gathered at a great pub on the edge of Old Town to wish her well. I must say that I'm quite happy about my growing ability to find my way around on the trams. And suddenly I realized how I could make a connection I've never made before to get there and back easily. Now to return to today - - -
Friday evening's tram trip was such an easy connection I decided to try it again today and take time to enjoy the surroundings. The first thing I wanted to know was who/why/what merited the enormous monument in the middle of a busy square and tram junction. This is Palackeho namesti (square) and a man sits larger than life on a giant pedestal with all sorts of beings flying and flitting around him (and I'm not referring to the pigeons!) That man is Frantisek Palacky, who spent more than 46 years of his life writing a history of the Czech people. I'd say that rates a monument! Although he'd promised his father he'd become a priest -- the family was protestant in an area that was nearly all Catholic -- he became a historian, active in the mid-19th century transitions in the Hapsburg/German empires, ultimately keeping the post of Historian of the Bohemian Estates right up until his death only a few months after he finished the Czech translation of his history. There's a lot more -- you can search the internet if you're interested. I won't go on further.
Next to the square is a large sunken garden -- it looks as though it is only a matter of weeks until the rose bushes bloom, and there are many rows of them. I would imagine I'll have to arrive early to get a seat on some of the benches. While enjoying the roses, I can also enjoy the spires of Emmaus Monastery. It was founded by Charles IV, the most recent version a baroque church with all the usual ornamentation except for its very modern twin spires which were added after a stray bomb destroyed the originals during WW II. Talk about contrasts!
All this, and I'm only now on my second tram. That trip gives me yet another view of the Castle and Cathedral, the Vlatava crowded with small boats, Charles Bridge, the oldest part of Charles University, and finally the walk into Old Town.
Items of note:
-- the concert at St. Nicholas Church today is a organ and brass ensemble playing Bach, Widor, and Orff. How's that for a mix!
-- the horse drawn carriage rides are back for a tour of Old Town. They're all spiffed up for the tourists with their fancy decorations.
-- there's jazz on the square again. This time a really good five-piece group doing Dixieland and other familiar tunes. The bass player was somewhere in his 30s, the rest won't see 65 again!
-- And new to me -- a three-wheeled conveyance which carries two tourists at a time on either a 20 or 60 minute ride. And some muscled young men were pedaling away. It appeared to be a very tight fit! And talk about hard work!
Things I need to buy: sunglasses and a hat! It was really warm, and this isn't summer yet. But what fun. What a treat.
The feet and heat combined to say "enough now -- head for home" and I listened. What a great afternoon. Did the usual weekly tasks and now it's time to get ready for the new week. More weeks, more adventures, more things to learn and enjoy. I am so blessed!
Today almost brought me to Strahov Monastery for several reasons. The first is that I've never been there. And I know it is a "must see." It has been a monastery since 1143; Mozart "improvised on its organ in 1787"; there's an incredible collection of art and literature maintained through the fires, sieges, and religious changes. AND it has its own brewery (and label) in operation with one short break since the 12th century with a good, inexpensive pub/restaurant. All good reasons to make the trip.
But not today. Today had to be an outside day after yet another string of cold wet days. The obvious choice was Old Town Square, yet again (and again and again), also for several reasons. One was the need of new reading material, and there's a good little bookstore tucked away with lots of used English language books. Another was curiosity. Every visit has something new to watch/hear/learn.
To digress just a bit - - - Friday evening I went to a congratulations-on-your-new-job for a young Czech colleague. She's leaving teaching for the newspaper world, and about 30 folks gathered at a great pub on the edge of Old Town to wish her well. I must say that I'm quite happy about my growing ability to find my way around on the trams. And suddenly I realized how I could make a connection I've never made before to get there and back easily. Now to return to today - - -
Friday evening's tram trip was such an easy connection I decided to try it again today and take time to enjoy the surroundings. The first thing I wanted to know was who/why/what merited the enormous monument in the middle of a busy square and tram junction. This is Palackeho namesti (square) and a man sits larger than life on a giant pedestal with all sorts of beings flying and flitting around him (and I'm not referring to the pigeons!) That man is Frantisek Palacky, who spent more than 46 years of his life writing a history of the Czech people. I'd say that rates a monument! Although he'd promised his father he'd become a priest -- the family was protestant in an area that was nearly all Catholic -- he became a historian, active in the mid-19th century transitions in the Hapsburg/German empires, ultimately keeping the post of Historian of the Bohemian Estates right up until his death only a few months after he finished the Czech translation of his history. There's a lot more -- you can search the internet if you're interested. I won't go on further.
Next to the square is a large sunken garden -- it looks as though it is only a matter of weeks until the rose bushes bloom, and there are many rows of them. I would imagine I'll have to arrive early to get a seat on some of the benches. While enjoying the roses, I can also enjoy the spires of Emmaus Monastery. It was founded by Charles IV, the most recent version a baroque church with all the usual ornamentation except for its very modern twin spires which were added after a stray bomb destroyed the originals during WW II. Talk about contrasts!
All this, and I'm only now on my second tram. That trip gives me yet another view of the Castle and Cathedral, the Vlatava crowded with small boats, Charles Bridge, the oldest part of Charles University, and finally the walk into Old Town.
Items of note:
-- the concert at St. Nicholas Church today is a organ and brass ensemble playing Bach, Widor, and Orff. How's that for a mix!
-- the horse drawn carriage rides are back for a tour of Old Town. They're all spiffed up for the tourists with their fancy decorations.
-- there's jazz on the square again. This time a really good five-piece group doing Dixieland and other familiar tunes. The bass player was somewhere in his 30s, the rest won't see 65 again!
-- And new to me -- a three-wheeled conveyance which carries two tourists at a time on either a 20 or 60 minute ride. And some muscled young men were pedaling away. It appeared to be a very tight fit! And talk about hard work!
Things I need to buy: sunglasses and a hat! It was really warm, and this isn't summer yet. But what fun. What a treat.
The feet and heat combined to say "enough now -- head for home" and I listened. What a great afternoon. Did the usual weekly tasks and now it's time to get ready for the new week. More weeks, more adventures, more things to learn and enjoy. I am so blessed!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
What a Difference . . .
. . . a week and 10 minutes makes. Last Monday Prague was displaying her brilliance. She was polishing her reputation. And the timing of my morning put me right in the middle of the crowd of people on their way to work, mostly adults, young to old, looking as though they were wishing for one more day of the weekend.
This Monday is a different scene entirely. Everything is shrouded, the colors are muted, it is cold and raining. And the beauty is different. Hradcany, the Castle District with St. Vitus Cathedral commanding the scene, looks like a stage set behind a gauze curtain. Almost nothing else stands out. It is a backdrop painted in shades of gray with just a bit of black mixed in all the colors. People are, for the most part, jockeying for umbrella space. Instead of ripples and waves, the river is pocked with raindrops. And the red roofs would be shiny with rain if only there were even a glimmer of sunshine.
Then there's the crowd. Ten minutes later means children are on their way to school. No yellow school buses here. Trams are the transportation routes, youngest children accompanied by a parent or an older sibling (with the usual squabbles), others on their own. Lots of waves and air kisses at the tram stops, obvious questions about and admonitions for the day, then greetings and conversations with friends and classmates and the thud of heavy backpacks hitting the floor -- the youthful version of a morning commute.
The walk hasn't change its profile. It has certainly changed its mood. The art gallery is showing a different artist -- even the paintings are somber and muted and command only a quick glance. The scent of the flowering trees in the little park is nearly overpowering. It is as if the clouds are confining it all to one space, making sure I take notice.
Then there is the cobblestone sidewalk. Cobblestones are wonderful and generally well maintained. It is interesting to watch sidewalk "repair." The coarse sand, the selection process -- just the right stone for just the right spot, then the heavy thunk as the whole area is leveled and set. Something I read recently confirmed my musing that cobblestones are healthier, environmentally better than concrete and asphalt -- rain can seep through instead of puddling on top. And the cobblestones passing the park are not ordinary. These are set in a beautiful tricolor design of circles and arcs and ellipses. Today they are nearly screaming "look at me, look at me." And I do.
Prague keeps its sidewalks clean two ways. Small "vans" transport individuals around the commercial/tourist areas to sweep litter regularly. It is deposited in the many trash cans which are emptied regularly by people transported by different small trucks. But then there is the sidewalk Zamboni. It surely isn't sleek and shiny, but it refreshes both the cobblestones and the concrete/asphalt as its sophisticated counterpart refreshes the ice of a hockey game. It is obvious these have been around for years. And they certainly do their job well. Add some rain and it looks as though each stone has been individually polished.
Last week invited lingering, this week encourages pushing forward. Last week kept drawing my eyes up and far away, looking at yet another large scene. This week continually narrows the view, insisting that I watch what's right in front of me and turn inward. Even the silver gray poodle sporting a bright red plaid "jacket" over his premature summer hair cut doesn't linger to enjoy the morning walk.
In her thought provoking novel Open House, one of Elizabeth Berg's characters reminds the reader about knowing this is "a good moment. Mostly you don't know, in this life, you don't know when it's happening. You look back later and say Oh! Well now, that was a good time!." He says he knew it lots of times. "Yes, sir. I've been blessed."
This Monday morning is yet another good moment. I've been blessed!
This Monday is a different scene entirely. Everything is shrouded, the colors are muted, it is cold and raining. And the beauty is different. Hradcany, the Castle District with St. Vitus Cathedral commanding the scene, looks like a stage set behind a gauze curtain. Almost nothing else stands out. It is a backdrop painted in shades of gray with just a bit of black mixed in all the colors. People are, for the most part, jockeying for umbrella space. Instead of ripples and waves, the river is pocked with raindrops. And the red roofs would be shiny with rain if only there were even a glimmer of sunshine.
Then there's the crowd. Ten minutes later means children are on their way to school. No yellow school buses here. Trams are the transportation routes, youngest children accompanied by a parent or an older sibling (with the usual squabbles), others on their own. Lots of waves and air kisses at the tram stops, obvious questions about and admonitions for the day, then greetings and conversations with friends and classmates and the thud of heavy backpacks hitting the floor -- the youthful version of a morning commute.
The walk hasn't change its profile. It has certainly changed its mood. The art gallery is showing a different artist -- even the paintings are somber and muted and command only a quick glance. The scent of the flowering trees in the little park is nearly overpowering. It is as if the clouds are confining it all to one space, making sure I take notice.
Then there is the cobblestone sidewalk. Cobblestones are wonderful and generally well maintained. It is interesting to watch sidewalk "repair." The coarse sand, the selection process -- just the right stone for just the right spot, then the heavy thunk as the whole area is leveled and set. Something I read recently confirmed my musing that cobblestones are healthier, environmentally better than concrete and asphalt -- rain can seep through instead of puddling on top. And the cobblestones passing the park are not ordinary. These are set in a beautiful tricolor design of circles and arcs and ellipses. Today they are nearly screaming "look at me, look at me." And I do.
Prague keeps its sidewalks clean two ways. Small "vans" transport individuals around the commercial/tourist areas to sweep litter regularly. It is deposited in the many trash cans which are emptied regularly by people transported by different small trucks. But then there is the sidewalk Zamboni. It surely isn't sleek and shiny, but it refreshes both the cobblestones and the concrete/asphalt as its sophisticated counterpart refreshes the ice of a hockey game. It is obvious these have been around for years. And they certainly do their job well. Add some rain and it looks as though each stone has been individually polished.
Last week invited lingering, this week encourages pushing forward. Last week kept drawing my eyes up and far away, looking at yet another large scene. This week continually narrows the view, insisting that I watch what's right in front of me and turn inward. Even the silver gray poodle sporting a bright red plaid "jacket" over his premature summer hair cut doesn't linger to enjoy the morning walk.
In her thought provoking novel Open House, one of Elizabeth Berg's characters reminds the reader about knowing this is "a good moment. Mostly you don't know, in this life, you don't know when it's happening. You look back later and say Oh! Well now, that was a good time!." He says he knew it lots of times. "Yes, sir. I've been blessed."
This Monday morning is yet another good moment. I've been blessed!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'
Every Monday morning I hit the cobblestones (early, of course) and "tram" my way down to the Vlatava River. When I get off, I'm right in front of the Slavia Cafe, "where Karel Tiege, Jiri Kolar, and a struggling Vaclav Havel once tippled, penned, and plotted the overthrow of Communism." And that's just for starters.
Turning the corner I have an unrivaled view of Prague Castle, St. Vitus Cathedral, and all the incredible buildings with their glorious red roofs in between. Walking toward my destination -- class with a bright, gracious, young woman -- I can view the saints, martyrs, and tourists on Charles Bridge, look from spire to spire at churches which have watched, and watched over, the centuries of changes in this ever changing town, and of course, keep checking the waves and ripples of the river.
After a couple minutes, the right side of the cobblestones begins to compete for my attention. And it wins just in time to enjoy, yet another time, the drawings of Jiri Slyva, a graphic artist with a quirky sense of humor. One of my favorites is a drawing of two woven bamboo bird cages connected by a twisting passageway. A bird is flying "free" from one cage through its passage. The route is upward, then around, and unbeknown to the bird, ultimately down into the other cage, which is out of sight of the first. What a commentary . . .
Yet a few more steps and I'm walking beside a lovely small park. The twisted tree trunks are obviously very old; the wrought iron fence is low, clearly not intended to keep me out; the benches, all facing the Vlatava, are inviting; and the tall sculpture and fountain in the center adds its own message of welcome and continuity.
At last Spring is visiting Prague. It's been threatening (or promising) to do that for some time now. Finally! And staying indoors is not even an option. Yet one more time in life when I just have to be in the middle of something before I learn how much I enjoy it.
Everything sparkles. Although there are a few of the early flowers missing, I do remember the surprises of color here and there, and I certainly still remember how welcome they were on the continuously gray, damp days of April. But now? Oh my goodness! There's sunshine, filtered through soft clouds and brilliant in a Carolina blue sky. There are dew diamonds on the grass, there are flowers I've never seen before hanging from bushes, there are newly planted window boxes perched at nearly impossible angles from 19th century windows. There is wonder and hope and promise almost everywhere.
And yes, the wonder is mine also. How could I be so fortunate as to be here in this wonderful place able -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually -- to marvel at and appreciate its gifts? And yes, I do wonder why it seems so right. And I wonder "what's next" even as I have not completed "what's now."
My feet have kept moving -- almost steadily. Sometimes they just have to slow down or stop so I can look a little further or take an extra few moments of enjoyment. And forward movement seems to be not only possible but also mandatory! No other option works for me.
Opening the right door takes me to an hour with Irena, which brings even more sparkle to the day. Rogers and Hammerstein had it right -- it's a beautiful morning!
Turning the corner I have an unrivaled view of Prague Castle, St. Vitus Cathedral, and all the incredible buildings with their glorious red roofs in between. Walking toward my destination -- class with a bright, gracious, young woman -- I can view the saints, martyrs, and tourists on Charles Bridge, look from spire to spire at churches which have watched, and watched over, the centuries of changes in this ever changing town, and of course, keep checking the waves and ripples of the river.
After a couple minutes, the right side of the cobblestones begins to compete for my attention. And it wins just in time to enjoy, yet another time, the drawings of Jiri Slyva, a graphic artist with a quirky sense of humor. One of my favorites is a drawing of two woven bamboo bird cages connected by a twisting passageway. A bird is flying "free" from one cage through its passage. The route is upward, then around, and unbeknown to the bird, ultimately down into the other cage, which is out of sight of the first. What a commentary . . .
Yet a few more steps and I'm walking beside a lovely small park. The twisted tree trunks are obviously very old; the wrought iron fence is low, clearly not intended to keep me out; the benches, all facing the Vlatava, are inviting; and the tall sculpture and fountain in the center adds its own message of welcome and continuity.
At last Spring is visiting Prague. It's been threatening (or promising) to do that for some time now. Finally! And staying indoors is not even an option. Yet one more time in life when I just have to be in the middle of something before I learn how much I enjoy it.
Everything sparkles. Although there are a few of the early flowers missing, I do remember the surprises of color here and there, and I certainly still remember how welcome they were on the continuously gray, damp days of April. But now? Oh my goodness! There's sunshine, filtered through soft clouds and brilliant in a Carolina blue sky. There are dew diamonds on the grass, there are flowers I've never seen before hanging from bushes, there are newly planted window boxes perched at nearly impossible angles from 19th century windows. There is wonder and hope and promise almost everywhere.
And yes, the wonder is mine also. How could I be so fortunate as to be here in this wonderful place able -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually -- to marvel at and appreciate its gifts? And yes, I do wonder why it seems so right. And I wonder "what's next" even as I have not completed "what's now."
My feet have kept moving -- almost steadily. Sometimes they just have to slow down or stop so I can look a little further or take an extra few moments of enjoyment. And forward movement seems to be not only possible but also mandatory! No other option works for me.
Opening the right door takes me to an hour with Irena, which brings even more sparkle to the day. Rogers and Hammerstein had it right -- it's a beautiful morning!
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Tram Travelin'
They did it! First the background - -
Five very long weeks ago "my" tram line was closed. The notice calls it a diversion, and it certainly is that. Everyone assured me that when the notice says May 3, it will be running May 3. I moved here from North Carolina, and believe me, I found that very difficult to believe. (In all fairness, I can think of a couple other states which would make it nearly as difficult.) I have been waiting semi-patiently to ride "my" tram today. I really didn't care if I went somewhere or nowhere. I just wanted to go. Rain or no rain -- and I would have won had I placed my bet on rain.
Friday I made my usual "diversion" trip on the alternate line (it has been adding 20-30 minutes to both the beginning and the end of every trip) and came face to face with what appeared to be a very bad joke -- a new diversion sign. And on "my" line! I wish I were mature enough, psychologically developed enough, or maybe even natured enough that I could say the sign didn't send my spirits plummeting. It did. And what seems even worse is that I was having all sorts of unhealthy reactions without even knowing what was going on!
Have I mentioned before how much I love Prague trams! I enjoy moving through the various sections of town on them; I'm fascinated seeing the constant interplay and jockeying for position of other riders; I'm entertained hearing the music of the language on multiple cell phone conversations; I'm particularly delighted watching the very well-behaved babies and toddlers in the strollers and dogs at their owners' feet. Trams are terrific! And best of all, they really work. They almost always come when they are supposed to, and they always take you where they promise they will. What a deal.
If I had to say where I would place myself on a line which moved between pessimist and optimist, I think I'd go about halfway between realist (obviously the center of the spectrum) and optimist. I'm ready to believe things are going to be great -- at least I'll give them a chance to be. That is why I turned right toward "my" line, not left toward the "alternate" when I left the building today. I was ready to believe that May 3 meant May 3.
And they did it! Just before I got to my stop, a tram went past. And I wasn't even upset that I missed it. No big deal -- I can wait for another. They always come. And another came on time, but it didn't have the right number on it -- it was an orange 30 sign. (A tram number beginning with a 3 is a temporary number.) Got it -- this is the new diversion. And off I went, to a section of Prague I'd not seen before, part of the old King's vineyard (that's why the district is called Vinohrady) and beyond. And I learned that life will be much easier than it has been recently. I learned I can go somewhere very new and come back to the familiar, I can find my way around new names and places, even anticipate the adjustments I'll need to make. I'm being "at home."
I am impressed. This is a big promise kept! They not only fixed the water lines in the area which had been closed (what I was told was the main reason for the closure), they also laid all new tracks and planted trees along the edge of the sidewalk. They certainly exceeded all my expectations.
Now I'm ready to believe that this next two weeks will end on time as promised. And I'm going on a tram again tomorrow, just to see where it will take me. I know there will be beautiful buildings as well as ordinary ones, and there will be people whose stories I'd love to hear, and best of all, I'll continue to believe the promises.
Not just the ones from the civil engineers. All the promises of life.
Five very long weeks ago "my" tram line was closed. The notice calls it a diversion, and it certainly is that. Everyone assured me that when the notice says May 3, it will be running May 3. I moved here from North Carolina, and believe me, I found that very difficult to believe. (In all fairness, I can think of a couple other states which would make it nearly as difficult.) I have been waiting semi-patiently to ride "my" tram today. I really didn't care if I went somewhere or nowhere. I just wanted to go. Rain or no rain -- and I would have won had I placed my bet on rain.
Friday I made my usual "diversion" trip on the alternate line (it has been adding 20-30 minutes to both the beginning and the end of every trip) and came face to face with what appeared to be a very bad joke -- a new diversion sign. And on "my" line! I wish I were mature enough, psychologically developed enough, or maybe even natured enough that I could say the sign didn't send my spirits plummeting. It did. And what seems even worse is that I was having all sorts of unhealthy reactions without even knowing what was going on!
Have I mentioned before how much I love Prague trams! I enjoy moving through the various sections of town on them; I'm fascinated seeing the constant interplay and jockeying for position of other riders; I'm entertained hearing the music of the language on multiple cell phone conversations; I'm particularly delighted watching the very well-behaved babies and toddlers in the strollers and dogs at their owners' feet. Trams are terrific! And best of all, they really work. They almost always come when they are supposed to, and they always take you where they promise they will. What a deal.
If I had to say where I would place myself on a line which moved between pessimist and optimist, I think I'd go about halfway between realist (obviously the center of the spectrum) and optimist. I'm ready to believe things are going to be great -- at least I'll give them a chance to be. That is why I turned right toward "my" line, not left toward the "alternate" when I left the building today. I was ready to believe that May 3 meant May 3.
And they did it! Just before I got to my stop, a tram went past. And I wasn't even upset that I missed it. No big deal -- I can wait for another. They always come. And another came on time, but it didn't have the right number on it -- it was an orange 30 sign. (A tram number beginning with a 3 is a temporary number.) Got it -- this is the new diversion. And off I went, to a section of Prague I'd not seen before, part of the old King's vineyard (that's why the district is called Vinohrady) and beyond. And I learned that life will be much easier than it has been recently. I learned I can go somewhere very new and come back to the familiar, I can find my way around new names and places, even anticipate the adjustments I'll need to make. I'm being "at home."
I am impressed. This is a big promise kept! They not only fixed the water lines in the area which had been closed (what I was told was the main reason for the closure), they also laid all new tracks and planted trees along the edge of the sidewalk. They certainly exceeded all my expectations.
Now I'm ready to believe that this next two weeks will end on time as promised. And I'm going on a tram again tomorrow, just to see where it will take me. I know there will be beautiful buildings as well as ordinary ones, and there will be people whose stories I'd love to hear, and best of all, I'll continue to believe the promises.
Not just the ones from the civil engineers. All the promises of life.
Friday, May 2, 2008
An Afternoon with Antonin
At last, a beautiful spring day, one much too pretty to waste with the ordinary routines. Until very recently there were only a few weak promises of spring, at least to my eyes, accustomed as they had become to pinks and whites, yellows and purples, salmons and reds, all thrown together on bushes and trees. Magnolias pushing upward, wisteria cascading downward. I know what spring looks like and, believe me, this isn't it! This is rain, and wind, and chill, and I've been assured it is April in Prague. It's not awful. It's just constant. And then sunshine!
I love the feeling of home. Although I am an enthusiastic tourist, I prefer to nest, to belong, even if only for a short time, wherever I am. Over the years I've learned that wherever I am is "home." I remain connected to my roots and the most recent place holding most of my stuff. I just add another place to belong, a new place to feel sheltered. There is a danger in settling in, however. It is the feeling that there's always more time. Sure, I could visit this place or see this view today, but then again, I could do it tomorrow, or next week. And sometimes "next week" becomes never. So I have made a promise to myself: something every week. Just something. A bit of effort, a new experience, or an updated view of a previous experience. And usually something not listed in the guide for those who have only one, or three, or even five days.
Antonin took two tries! I'm not normally geographically challenged, although I will admit to a bit of trouble identifying N-S-E-W when standing on a busy corner here. It's not I'm unsure of which direction my feet should move, it is that I don't know what to call it. And that's a tough one for me -- I think I came into life with a N-S-E-W gene! I also don't usually have difficulty following maps. Talk about a new experience! Finding Antonin Dvorak's home/museum was way beyond my ability a couple weeks ago. I just didn't find it. And that was a very good thing. Because a couple weeks ago there would have been branches, not buds! I would have missed the splendor of his garden, and the cream and hot pink might have been out of place in the middle of drab and colorless. The steeple behind the wall across the street would have been stark, not framed in lacy green. Not so now!
He was born in a little Bohemian town, a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, in 1841, received musical training there, then came to Prague while still a teenager, studied at the Organ School (I didn't know that) and was also an accomplished violin and viola player, so accomplished at all three that he was church organist for many years and a member of a Prague orchestra for nearly as many. Much of his story is nearly textbook -- married a student, didn't have enough money, became friends with leading musicians who opened doors for him (Brahms and Smetana). Where he strayed from the musical path of the mid- to late-nineteenth century was in using native tunes, dance rhythms, and patterns as part of the standard romantic style. Dvorak was a regular in my musical memory, especially his Symphony from the New World and Slavonic Dances. And there I was - - walking through his front door, climbing his steps, at his home only a couple of blocks from one of my regular tram stops. Nearly my neighborhood, for goodness' sake.
There are the traditional/usual manuscripts, interesting collected bits and pieces of a life that was both ordinary and gifted. I enjoyed seeing photographs, not paintings, of him, his family, his friends, his concerts, the farm in Spillville, Iowa where he visited cousins, viewing the academic gown he wore at Cambridge. The photos make him seem so contemporary, even though they are sepia and crackled. Talk about differences -- my guide book describes his home as an elegant, early 18th century (1720) summer palace. It also says it is red and ochre -- I'll go with cream and hot pink! I'm sure New York City was becoming elegant when he became director of the National Conservatory, and I'm sure he moved in all the right society, but America was still a newcomer. No wonder he wanted to come home!
And what a home. I'm glad I learned that he walked daily in the park I pass to listen to the birds' songs, that he regularly walked to the main train station (that's where I boarded for Vienna) to chat with a gatekeeper, that he worshipped, dined, conducted, drank coffee with friends on the streets I pass.
Dvorak has been described as "a national treasure." He died in this home in 1904, only 60 years old, looking much older, if those photographs can be believed. And he's buried at Vysehrad ("where all the best Prague myths were born"), in Slavin Cemetery, "last resting place of the cream of the arts worthies." I'm saving that for another weekend.
And I think I'll return to sit again in his garden, maybe with a book, maybe just listening to his music playing softly in the house -- and in my brain.
I love the feeling of home. Although I am an enthusiastic tourist, I prefer to nest, to belong, even if only for a short time, wherever I am. Over the years I've learned that wherever I am is "home." I remain connected to my roots and the most recent place holding most of my stuff. I just add another place to belong, a new place to feel sheltered. There is a danger in settling in, however. It is the feeling that there's always more time. Sure, I could visit this place or see this view today, but then again, I could do it tomorrow, or next week. And sometimes "next week" becomes never. So I have made a promise to myself: something every week. Just something. A bit of effort, a new experience, or an updated view of a previous experience. And usually something not listed in the guide for those who have only one, or three, or even five days.
Antonin took two tries! I'm not normally geographically challenged, although I will admit to a bit of trouble identifying N-S-E-W when standing on a busy corner here. It's not I'm unsure of which direction my feet should move, it is that I don't know what to call it. And that's a tough one for me -- I think I came into life with a N-S-E-W gene! I also don't usually have difficulty following maps. Talk about a new experience! Finding Antonin Dvorak's home/museum was way beyond my ability a couple weeks ago. I just didn't find it. And that was a very good thing. Because a couple weeks ago there would have been branches, not buds! I would have missed the splendor of his garden, and the cream and hot pink might have been out of place in the middle of drab and colorless. The steeple behind the wall across the street would have been stark, not framed in lacy green. Not so now!
He was born in a little Bohemian town, a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, in 1841, received musical training there, then came to Prague while still a teenager, studied at the Organ School (I didn't know that) and was also an accomplished violin and viola player, so accomplished at all three that he was church organist for many years and a member of a Prague orchestra for nearly as many. Much of his story is nearly textbook -- married a student, didn't have enough money, became friends with leading musicians who opened doors for him (Brahms and Smetana). Where he strayed from the musical path of the mid- to late-nineteenth century was in using native tunes, dance rhythms, and patterns as part of the standard romantic style. Dvorak was a regular in my musical memory, especially his Symphony from the New World and Slavonic Dances. And there I was - - walking through his front door, climbing his steps, at his home only a couple of blocks from one of my regular tram stops. Nearly my neighborhood, for goodness' sake.
There are the traditional/usual manuscripts, interesting collected bits and pieces of a life that was both ordinary and gifted. I enjoyed seeing photographs, not paintings, of him, his family, his friends, his concerts, the farm in Spillville, Iowa where he visited cousins, viewing the academic gown he wore at Cambridge. The photos make him seem so contemporary, even though they are sepia and crackled. Talk about differences -- my guide book describes his home as an elegant, early 18th century (1720) summer palace. It also says it is red and ochre -- I'll go with cream and hot pink! I'm sure New York City was becoming elegant when he became director of the National Conservatory, and I'm sure he moved in all the right society, but America was still a newcomer. No wonder he wanted to come home!
And what a home. I'm glad I learned that he walked daily in the park I pass to listen to the birds' songs, that he regularly walked to the main train station (that's where I boarded for Vienna) to chat with a gatekeeper, that he worshipped, dined, conducted, drank coffee with friends on the streets I pass.
Dvorak has been described as "a national treasure." He died in this home in 1904, only 60 years old, looking much older, if those photographs can be believed. And he's buried at Vysehrad ("where all the best Prague myths were born"), in Slavin Cemetery, "last resting place of the cream of the arts worthies." I'm saving that for another weekend.
And I think I'll return to sit again in his garden, maybe with a book, maybe just listening to his music playing softly in the house -- and in my brain.
How Do You Measure "Far Away"?
Do you use a ruler? A calendar? A history book? An impression? Is the answer "it depends"? Or is it really a matter of the heart?
I wish I had the "right" answer this morning. At the moment it could be any and all of the above.
I know, because a Google search and Geobytes just told me, that I am 4506 miles and 7251 kilometers away from the city I left three months ago (my how time flies. . . ). It offered to tell me quite a few things about Durham. My silent answer was "no thanks -- already know that." It must have assumed I knew about Prague, since it entered that as my "home" automatically and offered no further introduction to the city. Being curious, I continued to search. This distance thing was turning into fun. Not a big surprise that there's at least one more answer. MapCrow says it is fewer miles and/or kilometers. And both were "as the crow flies." Different crow? That answer came from satellites and GPS and all kinds of technological marvels. And it certainly isn't the one I'm looking for today.
My grandmother was and continues to be a significant defining influence in my life. How I wish I could tell her thank you at this point in my life. What an incredible lady! Homesteaded with her parents in the 1889 Run which opened Indian Territory for settlement, married my grandfather (who made the same Run with his brother) at 15, made the Run which opened the Cherokee strip as a new bride, gave birth to eight children -- the oldest dying in WW I, the youngest flying in WW II, kept the farm running while Grandpa was away working as a carpenter, helping others get settled. I was married on their 65th anniversary -- they cut the second piece of cake at the reception! I can still hear her saying, multiple times, "Oh Anne, the wonders you will see. Things I can't even imagine." Her love of life and her openness to change shaped me. And she doesn't seem very far away. Her influence is so strong, her acceptance of me, warts, mistakes, and all, such a life gift.
I continue to be amazed at the way technology erases the miles (and perhaps increases the agita). So often I comment to myself and others about the difference between Grandma going to the unknown territory and my coming to Prague. I know she had almost no means of contact, and certainly not the regular and easy connections I am afforded. I'm sure she thought her goodbyes to friends and family were final. Mine could be, but I don't know that. And we all seem to live our lives based on the presumption that we will see each other and share stories again.
My last day at Pilgrim UCC did include final goodbyes to two dear friends. Would the parting have been any different if I had known that? Bryant Dunshee and Midge Niblock will remain in my heart always for their grace and their smiles. And I feel very far away at the moment. I cannot share my sadness with anyone else who knew them.
Maybe, if you measure with your heart, "near" is when things are going along fine, memories of good times are strong, email and Skype are working well, and life isn't scattering major question marks along your path. "Far" is when the questions marks are growing, there is too much between the lines in the emails, beloved voices don't sound quite the same, and you are feel so completely powerless. It is very little help or comfort to realize you couldn't change things if you were closer. But it is so difficult not to offer a hug or a listening silence. That's "far"!
And measuring with a calendar and history book? Yesterday was a public holiday here -- Labour Day. I'm old enough to remember when May Day -- May 1 -- brought news pictures of an enormous show of military strength in a Red Square parade. It had nothing to do with the historical rites of spring, welcoming the new season, a traditional May Day celebration. Now everyone knows it is nearly impossible to take a holiday away from people, so you just rename it! And the history book certainly can tell us about these changes. They are very near to those who lived them and to those whose lives are now represented by plaques and memorials. The history is very far away to the late teen/early twenties generation who are the future.
I am, once again, very grateful to be at this place in the world at this point in my life. What wonders! You are so right, Grandma. I just wish I knew more about the distances I've traveled to this point and the ones yet to come.
I wish I had the "right" answer this morning. At the moment it could be any and all of the above.
I know, because a Google search and Geobytes just told me, that I am 4506 miles and 7251 kilometers away from the city I left three months ago (my how time flies. . . ). It offered to tell me quite a few things about Durham. My silent answer was "no thanks -- already know that." It must have assumed I knew about Prague, since it entered that as my "home" automatically and offered no further introduction to the city. Being curious, I continued to search. This distance thing was turning into fun. Not a big surprise that there's at least one more answer. MapCrow says it is fewer miles and/or kilometers. And both were "as the crow flies." Different crow? That answer came from satellites and GPS and all kinds of technological marvels. And it certainly isn't the one I'm looking for today.
My grandmother was and continues to be a significant defining influence in my life. How I wish I could tell her thank you at this point in my life. What an incredible lady! Homesteaded with her parents in the 1889 Run which opened Indian Territory for settlement, married my grandfather (who made the same Run with his brother) at 15, made the Run which opened the Cherokee strip as a new bride, gave birth to eight children -- the oldest dying in WW I, the youngest flying in WW II, kept the farm running while Grandpa was away working as a carpenter, helping others get settled. I was married on their 65th anniversary -- they cut the second piece of cake at the reception! I can still hear her saying, multiple times, "Oh Anne, the wonders you will see. Things I can't even imagine." Her love of life and her openness to change shaped me. And she doesn't seem very far away. Her influence is so strong, her acceptance of me, warts, mistakes, and all, such a life gift.
I continue to be amazed at the way technology erases the miles (and perhaps increases the agita). So often I comment to myself and others about the difference between Grandma going to the unknown territory and my coming to Prague. I know she had almost no means of contact, and certainly not the regular and easy connections I am afforded. I'm sure she thought her goodbyes to friends and family were final. Mine could be, but I don't know that. And we all seem to live our lives based on the presumption that we will see each other and share stories again.
My last day at Pilgrim UCC did include final goodbyes to two dear friends. Would the parting have been any different if I had known that? Bryant Dunshee and Midge Niblock will remain in my heart always for their grace and their smiles. And I feel very far away at the moment. I cannot share my sadness with anyone else who knew them.
Maybe, if you measure with your heart, "near" is when things are going along fine, memories of good times are strong, email and Skype are working well, and life isn't scattering major question marks along your path. "Far" is when the questions marks are growing, there is too much between the lines in the emails, beloved voices don't sound quite the same, and you are feel so completely powerless. It is very little help or comfort to realize you couldn't change things if you were closer. But it is so difficult not to offer a hug or a listening silence. That's "far"!
And measuring with a calendar and history book? Yesterday was a public holiday here -- Labour Day. I'm old enough to remember when May Day -- May 1 -- brought news pictures of an enormous show of military strength in a Red Square parade. It had nothing to do with the historical rites of spring, welcoming the new season, a traditional May Day celebration. Now everyone knows it is nearly impossible to take a holiday away from people, so you just rename it! And the history book certainly can tell us about these changes. They are very near to those who lived them and to those whose lives are now represented by plaques and memorials. The history is very far away to the late teen/early twenties generation who are the future.
I am, once again, very grateful to be at this place in the world at this point in my life. What wonders! You are so right, Grandma. I just wish I knew more about the distances I've traveled to this point and the ones yet to come.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Been there (Vienna)
Done that (applied for my visa)! And now I can say "Oh yes, I spent the day in Vienna. Just a quick trip down and back." Another never-to-be-forgotten experience.
It began with a bit of a shock -- my colleague and I had purchased our tickets for the overnight train together, hoping we would be in the same coach. We asked lots of questions, received what we thought were all the right answers, and felt comfortable that at least a known part of the trip was in order. Wrong! The first time we were told, in very limited English, that we didn't have reservations, we couldn't understand, or perhaps couldn't believe what was being said. The second time we were told that, we understood -- it was the conductor speaking and he had excellent English! Turns out that, although we had a handful of expensive tickets (remember, we're crossing a border), we didn't actually have a reservation. Basically we had paid for the trip, paid for the compartment, paid for the bed, and didn't reserve any of it. I still don't understand it or how it happened and that really didn't matter. Solving the problem did matter, and we accomplished that with more Euros. Hooray -- we were in our marvelous three-person sleeping compartment.
The beds were already made up -- three high -- crisp and fresh. The tiny bathroom in the tiny compartment was a design marvel. It even had a shower! There was a bit of stopping and switching. And then it was 6 a.m. and we'd arrived at a great train station. Clean, airy, a variety of places for breakfast, and, best of all, a very helpful information center! We bought our all-day transport pass, went right out the front door, walked across a set of tram tracks, boarded the #18, and we were on our way. Could not have been more simple. One easy change, and we were only a few blocks away from the Czech Permanent Mission, arriving early enough for a neighborhood stroll.
The buildings and colors were so similar that it was almost as if we'd not left Prague. (You can see our destination -- a much better picture than mine -- by "searching" for Czech Embassy Vienna.) And the woman who assisted me in the Visa Section could not have been more helpful. Thanks to Katerina, another colleague, everything was in order, and after multiple examinations of all the papers and more Euros, we were on our way.
When we left the tram we walked straight ahead to the Ministry. I couldn't miss noticing, however, that Schonbrunn, the marvelous Hapsburg home, was just to our left. (That's another good internet search -- great history, wonderful pictures.) And Schonbrunn was Stop 2 in our day.
My impression on the long (cold, windy, rainy) walk to the main entrance was that it could be Versailles. And sure enough, it is very similar. And at the same time very different. Purchase of the grounds (more than a square mile) began in 1596, construction of the middle part of the present palace in 1696, and the first festivities (I'm curious how one would celebrate the opening of such a home) began three years later. It was Maria Theresa, however, who made it the "family homestead" we visited. It's amazing when I realize my "family homestead" was a one-room sod cabin two hundred years later!
What a wonderful place. I am grateful that, in spite of all the world turmoil, all the changes of ideology and government with multiple restitutions, there are places from our collective past which have been preserved or restored. And certainly Schonbrunn has seen many changes. Today it is not only a packed tourist site (and we weren't there on a special or sunny day, certainly not in tourist season), it is also a place where people come to the lovely park to walk the dog, sit under an umbrella of ancient trees, or just stroll around for relaxation.
As could be expected, there were choices of eating places within the grounds. I'm so glad we opted for "top" choice: inside the china-linen-turn-of-the-century-music restaurant. We also selected traditional food (another great choice). Because Kim's only request was eating Sacher torte at Hotel Sacher, we passed on the astounding desserts. During our little train trip around the grounds -- zoo, botanical garden, and Gloriette (Maria Theresa's breakfast "room" high on a hill overlooking the city) -- a furious storm broke, and we spent the remainder of the day very wet and quite cold, which, of course, slowed our explorations. If you're interested, a search for Schonbrunn zoo will bring you a great chronology with pictures of the panda cub, born last year. Both the zoo and the botanical garden are responsible for research and innovations in their respective areas.
Public transport again, this time subway, to one of the central areas. We came to the surface right in front of the Vienna Opera House -- oh for a chance to be inside! -- and only a block from Hotel Sacher, Stop 3. Altho' a relative newcomer (1876), it also is the turn-of-the-century glamor I'd hoped, all the right colors, pictures, seating, and even three tablecloths with signatures, now embroidered for preservation's sake and including Franz Joseph, of famous guests of Anna Sacher, widow of the founder. She is the moving force which made it the 5-star establishment it is today. And yes, the desserts are terrific!
So often during the day I thought of Lotte, my dear Viennese roommate. How I wished she could have been with me. And how I hope I can return. What a mixture of enchantment and reality. I'm certain that, just like Prague, you can be a quick tourist or you can linger and enjoy so many marvelous places -- and desserts!
Nearly 30 hours later I was back in my own bed, safe and satisfied. My passport is now stamped "visa applied for" with four days to spare, and I continue to be legal! So happy to have been there and done that!
It began with a bit of a shock -- my colleague and I had purchased our tickets for the overnight train together, hoping we would be in the same coach. We asked lots of questions, received what we thought were all the right answers, and felt comfortable that at least a known part of the trip was in order. Wrong! The first time we were told, in very limited English, that we didn't have reservations, we couldn't understand, or perhaps couldn't believe what was being said. The second time we were told that, we understood -- it was the conductor speaking and he had excellent English! Turns out that, although we had a handful of expensive tickets (remember, we're crossing a border), we didn't actually have a reservation. Basically we had paid for the trip, paid for the compartment, paid for the bed, and didn't reserve any of it. I still don't understand it or how it happened and that really didn't matter. Solving the problem did matter, and we accomplished that with more Euros. Hooray -- we were in our marvelous three-person sleeping compartment.
The beds were already made up -- three high -- crisp and fresh. The tiny bathroom in the tiny compartment was a design marvel. It even had a shower! There was a bit of stopping and switching. And then it was 6 a.m. and we'd arrived at a great train station. Clean, airy, a variety of places for breakfast, and, best of all, a very helpful information center! We bought our all-day transport pass, went right out the front door, walked across a set of tram tracks, boarded the #18, and we were on our way. Could not have been more simple. One easy change, and we were only a few blocks away from the Czech Permanent Mission, arriving early enough for a neighborhood stroll.
The buildings and colors were so similar that it was almost as if we'd not left Prague. (You can see our destination -- a much better picture than mine -- by "searching" for Czech Embassy Vienna.) And the woman who assisted me in the Visa Section could not have been more helpful. Thanks to Katerina, another colleague, everything was in order, and after multiple examinations of all the papers and more Euros, we were on our way.
When we left the tram we walked straight ahead to the Ministry. I couldn't miss noticing, however, that Schonbrunn, the marvelous Hapsburg home, was just to our left. (That's another good internet search -- great history, wonderful pictures.) And Schonbrunn was Stop 2 in our day.
My impression on the long (cold, windy, rainy) walk to the main entrance was that it could be Versailles. And sure enough, it is very similar. And at the same time very different. Purchase of the grounds (more than a square mile) began in 1596, construction of the middle part of the present palace in 1696, and the first festivities (I'm curious how one would celebrate the opening of such a home) began three years later. It was Maria Theresa, however, who made it the "family homestead" we visited. It's amazing when I realize my "family homestead" was a one-room sod cabin two hundred years later!
What a wonderful place. I am grateful that, in spite of all the world turmoil, all the changes of ideology and government with multiple restitutions, there are places from our collective past which have been preserved or restored. And certainly Schonbrunn has seen many changes. Today it is not only a packed tourist site (and we weren't there on a special or sunny day, certainly not in tourist season), it is also a place where people come to the lovely park to walk the dog, sit under an umbrella of ancient trees, or just stroll around for relaxation.
As could be expected, there were choices of eating places within the grounds. I'm so glad we opted for "top" choice: inside the china-linen-turn-of-the-century-music restaurant. We also selected traditional food (another great choice). Because Kim's only request was eating Sacher torte at Hotel Sacher, we passed on the astounding desserts. During our little train trip around the grounds -- zoo, botanical garden, and Gloriette (Maria Theresa's breakfast "room" high on a hill overlooking the city) -- a furious storm broke, and we spent the remainder of the day very wet and quite cold, which, of course, slowed our explorations. If you're interested, a search for Schonbrunn zoo will bring you a great chronology with pictures of the panda cub, born last year. Both the zoo and the botanical garden are responsible for research and innovations in their respective areas.
Public transport again, this time subway, to one of the central areas. We came to the surface right in front of the Vienna Opera House -- oh for a chance to be inside! -- and only a block from Hotel Sacher, Stop 3. Altho' a relative newcomer (1876), it also is the turn-of-the-century glamor I'd hoped, all the right colors, pictures, seating, and even three tablecloths with signatures, now embroidered for preservation's sake and including Franz Joseph, of famous guests of Anna Sacher, widow of the founder. She is the moving force which made it the 5-star establishment it is today. And yes, the desserts are terrific!
So often during the day I thought of Lotte, my dear Viennese roommate. How I wished she could have been with me. And how I hope I can return. What a mixture of enchantment and reality. I'm certain that, just like Prague, you can be a quick tourist or you can linger and enjoy so many marvelous places -- and desserts!
Nearly 30 hours later I was back in my own bed, safe and satisfied. My passport is now stamped "visa applied for" with four days to spare, and I continue to be legal! So happy to have been there and done that!
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