Two years and counting! And what a wonderful time it has been. It feels as though I am in a “perfect middle”, a sort of wonderland between what has been and what will be. It’s difficult to remember all the feelings – excitement, exhaustion, sadness, anticipation, curiosity, (and that’s only the beginning of the list) – of that long ago plane ride. It’s easy to remember the first few days – the people who helped things move forward, the sense of belonging, and most of all, the rightness of moving into a new chapter. It would have been impossible to imagine all the wonders of these past two years.
Some of my musings are about places which have become my favorites: Brevnov Monastery, the Dvorak Museum, Uherske Hradiste (the lovely Moravian town with its annual festival and dear friends), several cozy restaurants, the Zoo, the peace of centuries old sanctuaries, the tram rides past decades and centuries of buildings both graceful and graceless. More often I think of friends, colleagues, and students, the “new” people whose lives have become so important in mine and the seamless way they blend in with those who continue to remain ever present in my thoughts if not my current geography.
It’s the to-do-to-go list which seems to claim a lot of my attention, however. Perhaps it’s the snow and cold, perhaps it’s just a general January routine, or most probably it’s the realization that this isn’t a suspension of some sort – time really is moving along. I’m keeping a real list now, not a mental one, of sunny-day expeditions and rainy-day retreats, places to visit when I have one day free vs. places to go when I have an extra day off. What is difficult is that they all seem to be equally important, none seems optional. Oh my, just have to get at it!
So here I am at the two-year mark, living in the past, the present, and the future all at the same time, and loving every minute of it, whether it's new and exciting or ordinary and frustrating. They are all mine, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be or nothing else I'd rather be doing.
The best thing now, however, is my return to health. It is both amazing and wonderful to see little bits of improvement each day. I see my “super specialist” again Friday for new x-rays. Probably the best description of my feeling now is “cautious optimism”. I know I’m getting better; I just don’t know what my lungs look like.
I begin teaching part time Monday. Am I ready? Probably not as ready as I think I am. And I know I will have to watch the energy level carefully. I’ve been warned about overdoing, and I’m paying attention. A trip to StJ yesterday taught me how quickly I can tire. Again I am so blessed. And so very grateful.
And yes, I want to keep counting these anniversaries, creating new memories, enjoying new friends, and sharing it all with you. It is a new experience to consider it all from this healing cocoon. Now I must get on with doing it! A new year with all its possibilities, just waiting to be lived. . . .
Have a wonderful February – spring is coming!
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, June 21, 2008
A Perfect June Evening
Sometimes everything lines up just right, nothing could possibly be any better, at least for that one happening. And I was privileged to have one of those nights this past week. Absolutely a night to remember . . .
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroquechurch of St. Promote,
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroque
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Pleasures of the Ordinary
This has been an extraordinarily ordinary week. As I think about it, it almost seems that it is a week representing my life: common, ordinary, daily routines; putting one foot in front of the other, doing the next thing which needs to be done. Then the routine is graced with so many lovely moments, moments that others either share with me or have in common with me; so much that is good and too much that is bad; so little thoughtful time and so much hustle; and the thread which ties it all together -- the people who come and go, who come and linger, or who come to stay seemingly forever in my heart if not in my presence. It's been one of those weeks.
It's been wet and mostly too cool. Now, in a wonderfully serendipitous moment, I'm prepared for the weather. Several of us were in a conversation about the lack of a wet weather and/or in between weather coat. I was still using the winter coat I brought with me. Fortunately (for me) the weather had cooperated -- stayed much cooler than usual. The coat conversation had two primary topics -- where to find one (corner vendors, second hand shops, etc.) and how much we'd have to pay. As we parted there were comments about waiting for the next week and/or making do. My last words before the trams arrived were "Well, I could get it today if it were under 100 Kc." Now, who'd ever think . . . Arrived in my neighborhood and noticed as soon as I got off the tram a little sign I'd never seen before: Second Hand, 30m. Thirty meters was less than half-way up the block, so I quickly made a left turn, discovered that I'd arrived 15 minutes before closing time, and went straight for a coat rack. AND walked out five minutes later with a really nice London-Fog type coat (no liner) for only 80 Kc. How about that!! What a lovely moment.
The week seems to be a blur of rushing and waiting, rushing and waiting. It seems that each time there was a gem of a person, a place, or an idea, I ended up moving on to another mental place. Here are several which have remained with me --
A brief conversation with a very bright young man about how we can maintain a balance between wanting government agencies to "help" with social problems without abdicating any personal responsibility and concern for those who clearly cannot care properly for themselves.
Finding an article in Lifestyles magazine, Czech edition, about Vaclav Havel and Forum 2000. Here's the setting -- I'm once again at my wonderful laundromat. I've already had a fruitless search for some reading I could think about, perhaps even Ann Lamott or Dawna Markova style. I really wanted something to read or I never would have selected something that slick. O.K. -- judge a book (magazine) by its cover! That's what took me inside. There was a lengthy article about the Forum 2000 conference in 2007. I don't remember hearing about Forum 2000 -- the first meeting was in Prague in 1997. The foundation focuses on key issues facing civilization. You may be sure I'll keep up with it in the future. This particular article combines quotes from ten years ago with the problems still facing us, all of us, today. From Havel then: "It is my deep conviction that the only option is for something to change in the sphere of the spirit, in the sphere of human conscience." From those in a business symposium now: "Already dozens of companies with massive economic and political power are more influential than many governments. Business support limited to charity and sport may no longer be enough." This "lucky find" will stick with me for a long time!
Getting a "real" opportunity for a hair cut! HOORAY! Three times now I've struck out. Speaking English is a big drawback. At last a friend of a friend of a friend. . . You know the way these things happen. And would you believe the salon is right in my new neighborhood. I went to the salon with the two (one who speaks only English, one who speaks English and Czech) to meet Vladka, the hair stylist who speaks only Czech. It was pretty scary to stand by for a long conversation about what can be done with my hair and how I'll look much younger (yeah, right) when all I wanted was more of the same. Well, that wish was at least six weeks ago. Now I'm ready for anything! Talk about feeling helpless! Of course I'll take my Anglicky-Czech dictionary -- it's always with me. I just don't believe I can thumb the pages fast enough to keep up with the pace. We'll see what happens this week.
It's time to get ready for the surprises and pleasure of another week. Getting ready is my job. Sending the surprises I'll leave to the universe! I'll just keep on with the "one foot in front of the other" routine, watching and waiting for each next moment. I'm wishing wonderful surprises for you also.
It's been wet and mostly too cool. Now, in a wonderfully serendipitous moment, I'm prepared for the weather. Several of us were in a conversation about the lack of a wet weather and/or in between weather coat. I was still using the winter coat I brought with me. Fortunately (for me) the weather had cooperated -- stayed much cooler than usual. The coat conversation had two primary topics -- where to find one (corner vendors, second hand shops, etc.) and how much we'd have to pay. As we parted there were comments about waiting for the next week and/or making do. My last words before the trams arrived were "Well, I could get it today if it were under 100 Kc." Now, who'd ever think . . . Arrived in my neighborhood and noticed as soon as I got off the tram a little sign I'd never seen before: Second Hand, 30m. Thirty meters was less than half-way up the block, so I quickly made a left turn, discovered that I'd arrived 15 minutes before closing time, and went straight for a coat rack. AND walked out five minutes later with a really nice London-Fog type coat (no liner) for only 80 Kc. How about that!! What a lovely moment.
The week seems to be a blur of rushing and waiting, rushing and waiting. It seems that each time there was a gem of a person, a place, or an idea, I ended up moving on to another mental place. Here are several which have remained with me --
A brief conversation with a very bright young man about how we can maintain a balance between wanting government agencies to "help" with social problems without abdicating any personal responsibility and concern for those who clearly cannot care properly for themselves.
Finding an article in Lifestyles magazine, Czech edition, about Vaclav Havel and Forum 2000. Here's the setting -- I'm once again at my wonderful laundromat. I've already had a fruitless search for some reading I could think about, perhaps even Ann Lamott or Dawna Markova style. I really wanted something to read or I never would have selected something that slick. O.K. -- judge a book (magazine) by its cover! That's what took me inside. There was a lengthy article about the Forum 2000 conference in 2007. I don't remember hearing about Forum 2000 -- the first meeting was in Prague in 1997. The foundation focuses on key issues facing civilization. You may be sure I'll keep up with it in the future. This particular article combines quotes from ten years ago with the problems still facing us, all of us, today. From Havel then: "It is my deep conviction that the only option is for something to change in the sphere of the spirit, in the sphere of human conscience." From those in a business symposium now: "Already dozens of companies with massive economic and political power are more influential than many governments. Business support limited to charity and sport may no longer be enough." This "lucky find" will stick with me for a long time!
Getting a "real" opportunity for a hair cut! HOORAY! Three times now I've struck out. Speaking English is a big drawback. At last a friend of a friend of a friend. . . You know the way these things happen. And would you believe the salon is right in my new neighborhood. I went to the salon with the two (one who speaks only English, one who speaks English and Czech) to meet Vladka, the hair stylist who speaks only Czech. It was pretty scary to stand by for a long conversation about what can be done with my hair and how I'll look much younger (yeah, right) when all I wanted was more of the same. Well, that wish was at least six weeks ago. Now I'm ready for anything! Talk about feeling helpless! Of course I'll take my Anglicky-Czech dictionary -- it's always with me. I just don't believe I can thumb the pages fast enough to keep up with the pace. We'll see what happens this week.
It's time to get ready for the surprises and pleasure of another week. Getting ready is my job. Sending the surprises I'll leave to the universe! I'll just keep on with the "one foot in front of the other" routine, watching and waiting for each next moment. I'm wishing wonderful surprises for you also.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Remembering and Forgetting
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.
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.
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