Sundries

So many little things knit themselves together to make a good day, a satisfying week, or a weekend in which everything seems to go just right. After all these years, I'm beginning to learn that my most important job (in every situation) is to be ready. Then just "go with the flow". And these times are almost always unexpected. That's how things have been lately.

► What a super Mikulas ((pronounced mick'-oo-lahsh) party last weekend. First, I feel so honored to be included in events such as this with great people, marvelous multi-ethnic food, and a general good time. The hostess was the neat young woman who was the former Assistant Director of Studies at StJ and has now returned to teaching. We are able to spend a few moments together each week in the reception area where we have classes at the same time at one of the StJ clients. I always look forward to those times together. Yes, the flat was small and packed wall to wall with people. But what fun! Getting there, being there, and getting home just before the tram schedule switched over to the night service -- all of it. Laughter piled upon laughter, new ideas and interesting perspectives continuously floating around in the swirl of conversation. What an evening!

► I awoke (long before daylight, as is usual now) to a lazy snowfall Friday morning. It was one of those times when a relatively brief tram ride takes me from snow to rain to only cloudiness, then perhaps back to more snow. The seven hills of Prague certainly produce interesting weather differences very quickly. The snow seemed to be a little heavier as I was riding, and I got off into huge flakes coming down hard enough that they were beating a rhythm on my umbrella. And suddenly - - nothing but wet cobblestones and droopy hair. After class the sky seemed lower, the general color around me was that of frozen mist, as if the atmosphere had "frozen" the breath of the world as it exhaled.

► Fast forward to another, longer tram ride in the early afternoon. The view was unchanged from the previous several hours when I shut my eyes for a few moments, I guess just because it seemed like a nice idea. Now I know it was preparation for a major gift, because when I opened them I was in the middle of an incredible winter wonderland. In that area of the city the snow was wet and heavy, the bare branches had been dressed in white fleece at least three inches thick, the grassy areas between apartment buildings were under an untouched blanket of white. It was so dramatic that all I could do was gasp and stare. What a gift! As I descended -- very carefully -- from the tram, I was in the middle of brown slush and puddles. And even with that I couldn't take my eyes away from the incredible beauty around me. Wish you could have shared it with me.

► How many years now have I been humming along with "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire"? As usual, Wikipedia gave me a longer answer than I needed, but it certainly added some sparkle to my internal music score. I did know it was written during WWII, 1944 to be precise, by Mel Torme, that man with a golden voice. I didn't know he discovered four lines written by Bob Well, the lyricist, sitting on the piano. Wells wasn't intending to write a song; he was trying to "stay cool by thinking cool" during a hot Arizona summer. Those four lines -- Chestnuts roasting, Jack Frost nipping, Yuletide carols, Folks dressed up like Eskimos -- became what is/was the most-performed Christmas song. And it took only 40 minutes. (Enough time left to enjoy a glass of iced tea!)

And now it isn't just words -- "roasting chestnuts" is a real experience for me. When Dasa and Thomas and I were waiting for a train in her village this past summer, she exclaimed about the dying chestnut trees which had always sheltered the little waiting area. Tree after tree was either dead or soon would be. That was, I believe, the first time I thought about chestnuts coming from an "ordinary" source, as pecans do in Oklahoma. This holiday season I've seen many little stands selling hot roasted chestnuts as I walk between trams and between classes, and it was such a nice connection between summer and winter. But there has always been a reason to keep going, or to put it differently, a reason not to stop. This past week curiosity and some spare time won out! I indicated to the young man tending the chestnuts and the fire that I would like some. Right away he reached for a bag and a long handled large spoon, opened the giant pot, and weighed out my 100 grams. And yes, they were hot! Within a few moments, however, I could begin the peeling process. Oh my goodness. They are good! Rather soft, somewhat dry and mealy, very satisfying. Since I was close to the company, I closed the bag, hugged it tight so it wouldn't cool, and took it to my student. We opened class enjoying warm chestnuts and hot green tea -- talking in English all the time. It was just the right touch on a really cold day. One of the best parts was his smile of surprise when I asked to learn about eating chestnuts!

► All week the temperatures have been hovering in the mid- to high-20s at night, low- to mid-30s during the day, usually accompanied by a noticeable and sometimes brisk breeze. I normally wait to stroll across the Charles Bridge until a more pleasant day. This trip couldn't wait -- and it was wonderful. One of my "favorite" friends here is a lovely young California woman, former teacher of children with special needs, one of those people whose quiet smile just lights up a room. Whenever she admired a pair of earrings I was wearing the answer would always be "I got them on the Charles Bridge years ago." And she would always reply, "I wish you'd take me sometime." Yesterday we made our trip -- and I certainly hope it isn't our only one. What a marvelous excursion. We were both looking for gifts, both suitably huddled in our scarves and gloves, and both in the mood to walk and talk, and stop and look, and go back to something else, then forward to something new. Even the frozen fingers and toes couldn't stop us. They did, however, make us linger in the best looking heated tourist shop after we reached the other side of the Bridge! The trip was successful in every way -- she found just the right gift for a birthday party she was attending that evening, I found something I never thought of as a gift for Thomas (I do hope he likes it -- it's not on his list any more than it was on mine!), and we really warmed up at a small cozy restaurant near the US Embassy that she remembered from a freezing day trip last year about this time!


► And I never would have predicted that my plans for this Sunday evening would include a "Service of Lessons and Carols" -- one of my longstanding favorites of this season -- at an Anglican church. So many marvelous moments have been spent watching the Service from Westminster Cathedral at midnight on Christmas Eve. Other memorable times have been enjoyed preparing for and participating in the Service myself. And now, here I am, partway around the world, a series of unexpected choices bringing me to that Service again, joined by friends from Scotland, Britain, South Africa, and the US, as well an yet unknown friends. (I always enjoy eliciting the difference between "strangers" and "foreigners" from my students.) I do hope they folks planning the service haven't decided it's time for all new carols. And as I listen and sing, I know the memories will be crowding my spirit. It's a good thing I don't need to read the words. I'll be spending the evening with so many people who have shared the Service with me in the past. And who knows how many others will join the crowd in the future.

Have you noticed how much time we spend worrying about, fretting over, and dreading difficult events and times? (The news in the US is doing much of that for us, although personal concern is certainly justified!) My wish for you in this holiday season is that you will anticipate, expect, and plan for joy and peace. Joy waiting to surprise you in each new moment of your days, and peace deep within you, knowing that the right things do happen at the right time. It is our perception and awareness which is limited. I'm learning. Fortunately the process is continuously reinforced! I hope you also are being surprised by joy.

It's beginning to look a lot like - - -

Oh my, it seems that things speed up at this time of the year no matter where I am. The past few weeks have been hectic, my brain is constantly overflowing with projects left half-completed, and my body is saying "Give me a break, won't you please." Everything that has been added to the normal schedule is wonderful, however, so I just answer - - "Later!"

Christmas has so many traditions here -- some related to saints (more on that later) and most about family and food and good times that have endured. I've thoroughly enjoyed listening to the different stories my students tell -- and watching their faces as they relate what they have done or will be doing this year. Whether with their family of birth or the family they have created, all place great importance on being together, including all generations available, and keeping their own family traditions alive, whether for two people or twenty-two.

So let's go to the beginning of the season and one of the saints -- St. Mikulas Day. (Recognize a similarity to Nicholas there?) December 5, StM Day, is the "official" beginning of Christmas, as I understand it. And I've heard some marvelous stories overflowing with nostalgia. Here's what I've learned - - -

The Christ Child is the gift-giver on Christmas Day (December 24th here), and on Saint Mikulas' (Nicholas) Feast Day (December 6), children in some Central European countries traditionally place a boot on their windowsill (sometimes balcony, if fortunate enough to have one in their flat) waiting for Mikulas to come by and fill it with treats. "Good" children receive various fruits, candies, and toys, "bad" children can expect nothing more than a wooden spoon or a willow-switch left by his somewhat sinister elf-companion, Krampusz, in Hungary. In the Czech Republic, Mikulas is often accompanied by the Angel and Devil. And it is on December 5, the Eve of St. Nicholas' Feast, they receive their treats. However, since no one is all good or bad, most children get both sweets and a switch! (Thank you, once again, Wikipedia.)

As it has been related to me multiple times -- with nearly identical memories -- Mikulas (Czech/Central European spelling) is always with an angel and a devil. The angel (and the Saint) reward good children, and the devil will put them in a sack and, depending on who's relating it, burn them or banish them. I was a bit taken aback by a parent who was quite delighted to relate how much he frightened his children -- apparently intentionally -- with the devil threats. There is a "walk around" in Old Town Square on the evening of December 5th. Parents bring even their young children (reminiscent of parents bringing toddlers to Central Park West till the wee hours of the morning to see the Thanksgiving Parade balloons inflated!) to see the grand trio.

College students and other young people count on earning some cash during this time! During the afternnoon one can see various angels and saints boarding trams for their destination for the evening, wings under their arms, staff and crown looking very unsaintly. It seems some kids have recognized the face of a relative under the beard or mask when the group visits their home, so parents are now opting for strangers to perform the task! (Sound like some of the Santa figures you've known or heard about?)

One of the requirements for meeting the Saint is the performance (very well done, of course) of a song or a poem, something you've been preparing for some time. And of course your boots must be well polished. My Czech teacher recalls singing and reciting as if her life depended on it -- and indeed, she believed it did! Her story is representative, so here it is.

Dad took her and her sister to the square in their town; Mom begged off with some excuse about work or health, or something that would keep her home. The girls got through their performances, received their little treats, and made their way home with Dad. They were met at the door by their mom who was pleading for their help. "There was a terrible noise on the balcony and I am afraid to go out their to get _____ (fill in the blank with your own experience and imagination)." Of course the girls and Dad had to help. SURPRISE! The boots they had placed (sounds like stockings at the fireplace to me) were filled with wonderful things such as oranges (a rare treat at that time) and little candies. What joy!

Just as in the States, decorations and music and enticing sales precede even St. Mikulas day. My favorite, at least to this point, is the Christmas Market in Namesti Miru, the park/square across from St James. (They are all around the city, though, and it is interesting to look at similar items and dissimilar prices in different markets.) The Church of St. Ludmila dominates nam. Miru, and the market is in front of the church in a manner I believe is probably similar to the markets of years, possibly centuries ago. It is a series of many small wooden structures -- actually they would be good stand-ins for a stable in a nativity scene -- joined together in some places, then starting a new row or making a 90-degree turn at others. Each stall has a different offering, some with food, candy, or wine, others with handmade Christmas linens, or decorations, or other winter and/or gift necessities. Frankly, I just love walking slowly with the crowd. The huge Christmas tree with a nativity scene in front of it is decorated with hundreds of blue lights, as are the stalls. How beautiful and what fun to watch!

Women have been baking the marvelous Czech Christmas cookies for weeks now. One colleague even brought a plate of them to StJ for teachers to share. Yummy!

Shopping has begun in earnest. I've heard several people talk about finishing "early," but most seem to be just getting started. The trams are much more crowded than usual, and of course they are many more bags taking up space.

Christmas itself is a multi-day event. The 24th is the "big" day -- a public holiday, and the day of the first family get-together. Traditional foods are carp and potato salad, and everyone near enough will be there. The 25th is the day you prepare another big meal and share it with other relatives/close friends, those you didn't see the day before. As you can imagine, there's quite a bit of traveling, quite a bit of merry making! And at least from those who've told me their stories, the gift giving seems a bit more restrained. And it is definitely for the children.

Since we had snow again yesterday, it really is beginning to look a lot like Christmas -- white, lights, and all. And the festive spirit is evident. I hope you're enjoying it with me, wherever you are.

Much Ado About - -

more ordinary events. To top the list there is the magic of the first snow. Yes, I know. It won't be long before I'll be wishing it away, or even, perhaps, homebound because of it. For now it brings happy memories, new views in this beautiful city, and the sense of yet another new beginning. Calendars can announce the seasons, nature can give signs of coming "attractions," but the first snow is, for me, always a special moment.

Friday I walked out of the laundromat into a driving sleet storm -- not at all magical, I might add. The forecast had included some chance of snow for Saturday, but that caught me totally unaware. And soaked (even with an umbrella, my constant companion!). And very chilled by the time I reached the flat. Saturday morning brought scattered flakes which stuck, creating a patchwork of red roofs and white snow outside my window, the changing scenery actually distracting as I was working.

In the late afternoon I found my boots, wrapped up in a long scarf, grabbed my gloves, and ventured out carefully for an evening with "the bunch", fun as always. And came out after dinner and conversation to an all-white world. It was real snow. Everything was covered. And of course it invited a snowball fight! This was the good, packable stuff! You knew when you had been nailed. I learned while waiting for the tram home that Pragers do slow down when driving on snow! The cars were inching up or down the hill quite carefully. And the world was beautiful. I was in my own private snow globe, and someone had given it a good shake! A picture book ending to yet another interesting evening.

The restaurant of the evening -- U Karel IV, (Charles IV, a much admired king) is a neighborhood gathering place with really good food, nice low prices, and one convenient tram ride away for me! Gotta love that combination! Along with that, the combination of people and backgrounds and topics adds up to a great evening and a whole new set of things to ponder later every time we get together. A interesting change in the evening was the addition of a couple visitors to the conversational and national mix. One, a Venezuelan business man now living in Toronto, and another a "new" Czech friend of one of my colleagues who just may become a "regular." As usual -- a great evening. And as always, yet another chance to keep assembling the puzzle of life!

The snowballers went on to Arnaud's flat for a post-dinner gathering. He's one of the people I feel so fortunate to know and am so glad that the friendship is deepening. (And yes, it does feel good to know he enjoys being around me also, in spite of our age difference.) I was sorry to miss it, but glad to come home to a - -

Skype call from Matthew and Alexander. Because of all the i'net problems, those calls have been pretty few and far between for the past few months. Alexander is SO tall, and is it wonderful to see them together in the big chair, teasing each other, having a good time, going back and forth in our conversation. The wonders of technology! And it's free. We actually talked for nearly an hour. High point? Beyond just seeing them and being "together", that is. Reading The Velveteen Rabbit together. Matthew had found it in a sale bin, brought it home and saved it for our time together. He was right -- Granne did get chocked up at the memories! (He actually said to A. "You watch your Granne. She's going to - - -" Sometimes it's just not good to be so predictable.) And I'll be waiting my chance to go through some of the generational changes with Alexander at another time. All the 1922 references.... What a great way to keep life connections. And to remind a growing boy about the power of being loved.

Three of us had set up a much anticipated Saturday morning excursion to the Asian Art Museum with Arnaud as a guide (he was an art student in Paris for several years) which fell through at the last minute because of conflicts. I can leave it on my anticipation list, however, and know it'll be great when we're able to do it. Zbraslav is a charming little "village" that is now part of Prague. The Museum is part of a family castle taken over by some former regime, now restored to the family. My understanding is that they have just been granted the whole place back. Pity! Actually good for them, sad for the fate of the museum. And the cancellation gave me some extra work time yesterday a.m. which I promptly squandered!

Today brings another treat -- I'm quite sure this one will happen as planned. I'm having brunch with my T'giving dinner co-hostess. It's time to put the last minute plans together -- that includes how we get plates, knives/forks, and other assorted party requirements from my place to hers. The menu is long and really inviting. And I can hardly believe the time is here. It means Ocean Spray (the fresh variety, that is) better start showing up pretty soon!

I'm sure I've mentioned my terrific flatmate, Thomas. He's great. Three months now, and I'm still in the camp of the lucky few who aren't complaining about this and that and something else with their flatmate -- or just downright totally disgusted. I can't find a complaint. Isn't that terrific. I really enjoy hearing him practice his guitar -- reminiscent of times with Lotte in NYC, listening to her chamber groups rehearsing in the living room. Of course, Theresa and I wanted him at the Dinner, and happily he said yes. And he's bringing his grandmother's corn pudding, which is a staple in their T'giving meals.

If I end up baking half the turkey in my oven because neither hers nor mine will accommodate the whole one, we're going to have quite a juggling act going on here. And then a great Saturday afternoon/evening when it is all put together. I believe we have about 16 people coming -- I do so hope they all come -- and she's a person who has to plan "games." And I'm very happy to let her do it!

Last Monday was a holiday for me -- and the whole Czech Republic. It was Freedom Day, celebrating the beginning of the Velvet Revolution in 1989. Thanksgiving is NOT a Czech holiday -- hence the Saturday dinner. So I enjoyed the last one and will work through this one.

A small further note -- I have yet another new student. How blessed I am with my students, my schedule, and all the opportunities to learn. I begin with this man Tuesday. He's head of HR in the region for a global pharmaceutical. My boss says he's in his 50s, fluent in English, but wants to gain confidence in meetings with native speakers. This will be even more fun!

It is snowing again -- that's probably a good sign to wrap this up and get on with some preparation for the school week. I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving, safety on whatever journeys you and your loved ones are making, good fun, good eating, and the creation of even more good memories. And in these difficult times, I'm going to end with some words from Reinhold Niebuhr which "grabbed" me again this week.

Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore, we are saved by hope.
Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate contest of history; therefore we are
saved by faith.
Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.
No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own; therefore we are saved
by the final form of love, which is forgiveness."

Wishing you a special day devoted to counting once again our blessings and giving our thanks. I will be thinking of you. . .

The Magic Continues

Only one thing was on my plan for the day -- to spend some time in the afternoon with a young Czech friend/colleague. Then, as is usual in "my" Prague, something totally unexpected and wonderful happened, and I received yet another gift to share with you.

I don't even remember how our friendship began. I just know that it has grown and we both look forward to times we spend together. Usually those times are wonderfully sedentary :-) We meet at the tram stop and walk to a lovely little non-smoking cukrarna (sweets shop), have a cup of tea and talk away. And I will admit these sit-down chats have been happening since I hurt my ankle, so it is pretty logical and well as fun.

Somehow the usual became the unusual. When I said I'd enjoy walking with her -- she is totally devoted to a-walk-a-day! -- Radka asked if I'd been to Petrin. Well, yes, I had. A wonderful excursion with Dasa and Thomas this summer. We rode the funicular, enjoyed the wonders of the observatory, walked through the parks, ate at the marvelous restaurant, and all in all had a spectacular day.

It seems that's not all there is to Petrin, and it wasn't the part Radka had in mind. Although I'd ridden by another section on my way home from class several times, I had never realized it was part of a much larger whole. Petrin Hill is an enormous historic, green, public place, the highest elevation of Prague's seven hills (1040+ feet) and is made up of eight parks and orchards. (If I've made you a bit curious, a search for "Petrin Hill" will give you lots more information and some beautiful pictures on the various websites.) Originally the quarry for many of Prague's historic buildings, it has been a public park since 1825.

Two notable sites on the Hill -- centuries apart in their ages -- which continuously draw my attention are the Hunger Wall and the Monument to the victims of Communism.

The first was built under Charles IV in 1360-62, called "Hunger Wall" because in addition to being a fortification, it was to provide work during a famine. It can be seen from a great distance, a dividing line running right up the hill and beyond, 8 metres high, with 1,200 metres of the original length remaining. Several bastions still remain, as does some of the inner walkway with platforms for marksmen. Undoubtedly it was a strategic act, and it protected the west and south of the city so it could grow for several hundred years. But it also provided food for the families of those working on its construction.

The second, more moving scene, is the memorial to the victims of communism, erected twelve years after the era ended for the Czech Republic. It is deceptively and hauntingly simple -- seven figures are in differing positions on a flight of oversized stairs, their bodies in various states of decay. There is a metal ribbon running up the center of the stairs which tallies the known number of victims -- giant numbers for such a small nation. And a plaque reads "The memorial to the victims of communism is dedicated to all victims not only those who were jailed or executed but also those whose lives were ruined by totalitarian despotism." Always a moving sight, and always thought provoking -- how could there be people wishing (and voting) for a return?

But on to the walk -- up and around, lovely cobblestone pathways which turn back on themselves time and again because the climb is so steep. And here and there "rest stops" with inviting wooden benches, always strategically placed to see the city below or the scenic view of the hill. On the way to the top (which I never did reach :-( wisdom overcoming pride!) we passed a marvelous waterfall with its own little pond and statuary. Its sound had been calling for many steps. And of course, here the benches faced the water. We only paused, because it was getting to be evening, and we had "miles to go before. . ." our goal. After many twists and turns we finally arrived at St. Michael's, a church which had been moved board by board from the Ukraine in the late 1920's when the valley where it stood was flooded for a hydro-electric plan.

And there it was. Such a different building, so NOT baroque, so out of the ordinary. And breathtaking in its difference. As we approached, Radka commented that something was wrong. This is a favorite walk for her, so she knows what it should look like as it comes into view. I realized that the "stuff" was actually cleaning materials, boxes which had been emptied of something.

It is a small, very dark building, and it was only as we were actually on the porch, at the entryway, that we could see people inside, inviting us to join them. The magic is alive and well! We met one couple from Rumania, in Prague only a year, and a gentleman here for 18 years, all three of whom had been cleaning, opening the heaters (which will be used sparingly and without electricity to preserve the integrity of the building), and generally working to bring the room back to shape for divine services. Someone has lovingly cleaned the icons, the limited seating is waiting for people, and the accouterments of worship are appearing.

Beginning in a couple weeks, there will be services twice monthly, including one with the Metropolitan and all the orthodox priests from miles around for what I would call a (re)consecration of the building. We had a long talk with them -- I was so grateful I could share in their joy and let them know -- thank goodness they spoke English -- I could somewhat realize how important this is to them. What a milestone for them/us all. A few weeks after the services begin, they will start to have someone present so it can be open a few hours a week for visitors. No longer "permanently closed to visitors; no services held here". And we were able to share in the moments.

As we began to descend the hill, we passed them carrying boxes and materials up, apparently to a car/van somewhere at the top. What wonderful timing -- one stop on a bench and they would have been gone. We would have missed their joy, and they would not have known our appreciation of this giant step forward in their lives and the lives of others whose worlds have changed so often and so radically. Yet another miraculous moment.

You may enter a Google search for "St Michael's Petrin Hill" and come up with some great photographs. One of the best is a 360 degrees video of St. Michael's (on a site with many of the famous spires of the city -- you could certainly spend some interesting time there, I learned earlier today!) Here is a website address. The panoramic video is wonderful. I'll leave you to imagine us in the picture together, having yet another weekend experience.

Enjoy. . . . . . .








stovezata.praha.eu/en-church-of-st-michael-in-the-kinskeho-garden.html - 43k

A Week in the Life. . .

Regardless of the point of view, this has been some week.

At the moment, the approach of winter is very real. To paraphrase an old song -- in the dark, dark, dark of the morning. As I think about it now, I realize I arrived when it was deeper winter. But after the wonderful spring/summer light, both morning and evening, this is indeed a shock to my system! In addition, when I arrived I didn't have to be up and out quite so early. "Early" is also a shock. My system adjusts to it but complains a lot! And I know it is only going to be colder, darker, and more difficult to get around.

But oh yes -- I'm getting around in Prague. There is no lessening of my joy and contentment just being here. If anything, it is increasing. I love almost every minute of it. I'm even grateful to be sharing in the annoyances of crowded trams or long waits. Once again there are views I'd been missing for awhile. The leaves are down, some removed, some not. And the branches are open to the sky, and the saints, heroes, and yes, probably family members looking down from the niches and perches on buildings.

Continuing with the normal and usual, teaching life goes on, very happily. I have a very full schedule, quietly congratulating myself that in September I taught the most hours of any of the 127 teachers, and in October second most. Martin, my Director of Studies (boss), is one of the most even, genuinely happy men I've ever met. I admire and respect him in so many ways. And he gave me a really nice chuckle when he told me that. My reply was that now that I knew there was a race, I'd give more effort to winning. Seriously, it did feel really good to remember my misgivings and hesitations as I arrived and realize what a long way I've come. And it never even occurred to me that was the extent of my schedule. And how nice that he thanked me for the work!

It seems I'm somewhere beyond the tourist stage and not yet where I want to be with being settled in. I know the language is a big factor in that. This week was my second Czech class, and I must say the teacher is wonderful. Because of the difficulty of fitting into all our schedules, the class is held one Saturday a month for four hours. Oh my, that's a long time! This week there was some change in the attendance -- to be expected -- but I imagine we'll settle down at around 9 people, big range of ages (representative of the teaching staff here, thank goodness) and backgrounds. And yes, Czech is difficult. I'm grateful for Barbora's teaching skills as I learn Czech and as I learn more about teaching by watching her. Bought the books (a couple of us are sharing the cost and the books) and will become serious about homework.

My days are satisfyingly long. Today I teach eight hours, with my favorite beginning to a day. After two trams, I walk along the Vlatava River, looking at the Castle, the Contemporary Art Museum with its bright yellow plastic penguins parading along the shore, the Charles Bridge, the Hunger Wall, and the spires of "New Town" across the River and the gem of a little park with its fountains and monument to the victims of the plague beside me. The roses are gone now, but the care of the park, which is always beautifully manicured, continues. Love the little red "no" circle which allows dogs on the grass and not feet!

And best of all, this morning walk leads to one of my favorite classes -- bright young professional women who are advanced in their English skills. What a way to start a week.

I have one hour -- a cumbersome amount of time -- to do the tram/metro thing again, eat my sandwich on the "walk", and get myself in order for six straight hours at a financial institution. Two classes are one individual each and three are groups of four. It's been interesting to talk with them -- and watch attendance drop because of work pressures -- during this economic crisis. I'm very grateful for the years in banking and business in general as we walk together through the cause and effect conversations. And I'm especially grateful for the New York Times editorials along with a couple other resources.

The rest of the week is a similar story -- transportation, walking, classes, interesting people, some who do homework, some who don't, some who are struggling (like me) and some who are quite at home with a second (or third or fourth) language. Thursday is another very long and full day, with the others all starting early, and all but one ending around six.

Friday night was one of our informal get togethers. This was at a neighborhood pub -- the neighborhood of one of my friends/colleagues, a great young man from France. He's been talking about it as long as I've known him, and now I've been there. He did not overrate it -- it is terrific! I'd passed it weekly on my way to a class, always thinking that it looked interesting. Now I know I was right.

And - - - to the election. Hooray, Hooray, Hooray! ! ! ! ! Arnaud led in raising a glass to "your" new president. The mood at the table, regardless of nationality, was jubilant! and vocal! and thoughtful!

I awakened Wednesday a.m. to my clock radio, set for the BBC, broadcasting live McCain's concession speech. Yes, against all my better judgment, I'd watched some of the results of the proceedings on my computer. Thank goodness I had internet at the time! The speech gave me the answer. And I must say -- I left for class with my head held a little higher!

I've been following the editorials and Op-Ed columnists extra faithfully the past couple weeks. If you haven't read some of the comments (and are interested) you can access the NYT free online. (I'm glad I had it set up to come in daily because a student requested it. I probably wouldn't have thought about doing it for myself.) It has been so good to learn from others so much more knowledgeable than I, and even more affirming, to hear my thoughts and suspicions echoed and re-echoed.

Conclusion on that topic: I'm so grateful for the change and so fearful that some of the support may erode simply because there is so much to be done and it will take so long to make a difference. In many ways the period after the Velvet Revolution was reflected in my mind. Nearly everyone thought everything would change immediately. What challenges he's facing. And even in the middle of the euphoria what ridiculous questions are being raised. But I'm grateful we're at this point! And saddened at some of the lack of progress we reflect as a nation -- IMHO (in my humble opinion).

It is beginning to show signs of morning outside the window, a signal I'm behind in my schedule. As usual, I'm not quite as ready for today (and the remainder -- there is no rest -- of the week) as I'd like to be. But there's always the evening to catch up -- and then another weekend to pick up, sort through, and make some sense out of the papers I've stacked on the coffee table!

I hope your week is equally satisfying, joyful, and most of all, hopeful.

Silence is . . .

definitely not golden. But at least it isn't the sign of something amiss!

In this case silence is caused by even more computer problems. First it was over three weeks of lost internet connections. That was remedied, thank goodness, and then the whole computer decided it doesn't know me. Can you imagine it -- your own computer, something that feels as close as your skin, or an appendage, or even, in some cases and at least for me, your brain -- refusing to acknowledge you when you try to say good morning. How dare it!

This is just a quick opportunity to touch base, to let you know that all is certainly well, that my love of life in Prague has only deepened. I'm enjoying my summer classes/students/schedule. (I would enjoy it even more if there weren't so many cancellations. That is, however, a fact of life here. Did you know that four weeks is the mandated holiday allotment here? And they do enjoy it!) Overall, though, this is a very nice change and I look forward to the next month also.

It has been difficult to say farewell to new friends, some returning to the States for grad school, for retirement, or for another type of work. Others will be going to different countries; this is a way of life for them. In some cases the goodbye is temporary -- they are taking summer holiday (a few to earn enough money to be able to afford this job!) and will be returning in September/October.

Then there is the real enjoyment and excitement - - Dasa and Thomas arrived two weeks ago. It is wonderful to have a phone conversation be a local call! How exciting to watch Thomas speak to one grandmother (babicka) in Czech and instantly switch to English with the other. What a joy it is to be listening to his stories, his descriptions of visits to castles, and playing trucks and trains with him again. And what a great weekend we had together. Of course, there was plenty of terrific Czech food, a fun visit with Dasa's aunt and uncle. A highlight of that time was watching Thomas enjoy their family "farm": geese, tractor, plow, chickens, bunnies, lots of fruits and vegetables, all the great things city boys miss! Our weather's been weird -- that's the most used word to describe it. Cold, rainy, then colder with heavier rain.

Dasa, Thomas, and Zdenek, her older brother, were coming to Prague today. While I taught they were going to go up Petrin, I believe. It is a tower built to resemble the Eiffel Tower, 60 metres high, 299 steps to climb, and on a really clear day it is said you can see the highest peak in the Republic 150 kilometers away. Then we were going to explore the Charles Bridge (Karlov Most) together and do whatever else looked like fun. Because of a really stormy forecast, we canceled/postponed the visit last night. By noon today -- you guessed it -- the sun was shining and I was feeling awful! Fortunately for my spirits, we just had another harsh downpour and more is obviously on the way. And I know I'll see them, even if only briefly, several more times.

Prague is dressed in her summer finery -- lush green "frames" for the baroque facades supplied by interesting trees, flowers hanging over balcony railings and sweeping nearer the street each time I pass, open windows with lace curtains (it's the standard here) blowing in the breezes to a wonderful rhythm they all seem to catch at the same time, tantalizing garden gates now open to find the same breezes. And I must not forget the chickens (and snails) on my Friday trek. Each is getting fatter. (It's obvious what the chickens are eating -- I stopped to watch their peck-peck-peck. It is less obvious for the snails. Whatever their diet, they do grow!)

I've had some enjoyable evenings out -- Pub Night once again with colleagues, a regular occurrence at StJ, several quiet evenings of great conversation with different colleagues over some good Czech beer, an interesting but unsuccessful book hunt, and the promise of more of these times to come.

And Prague is receiving her spring/summer allotment of tourists with her usual grace and calm. It seems that each time I go out there are more people to wait for, walk around, stand still behind, or generally find a way to move through. I frequently think how grateful I am that I am not a tourist this time. It is such a peaceful feeling to be able to enjoy daily routines in this setting without a rush to see everything at once. And yes, I must get myself moved out and around again. That's the next post, I'm sure.

For now, all is well here. I wish the same for you.

Muzejni Noc

Or Museum Night -- and what a night it was. That was the "label", alternating between Czech and English, on an enormous fleet of buses running from 7 p.m.till 1 p.m. providing free transportation to over 25 cultural institutions with 51 sites, each with no admission fee during this special event. There were nine different lines/routes, each with its own attraction(s) carefully described in Czech and English in the great little guide book, running continuously to carry us ("human sardines" would be the term) to the various locations. This was the 5th annual Prague Museum Night, an event copied from similar events in other leading European cities. Over 170,000 people attended last year, and I think, from the crush of the crowds, that each of them brought two or three friends this year!

I met with five colleagues from StJ at the metro stop by Old Town Square. Their intention was to visit the nearby Jewish Museum first. Although I've been there a couple times, each visit was before I'd read Madeline Albright's moving account of finding her family listed in this place of sorrow in her book, Madam Secretary. I wanted to take that image with me on this visit. I'm glad I didn't air my thought about whether or not the Sabbath might have some influence on this. Yes, it did. The JM didn't open till 10:30 p.m. (That's an hour after it got dark here!) Who knows how things would have turned out had they known that.

As a substitute first event the Zbraslav Chateau was selected. It seemed like a wise choice even before I knew the details. So many of the sites are near the center with relatively easy access. I'm not sure when, or even if, I would have made this little trip. There are so many places to go and things to see that I might not have noticed it in the long list of possibilities. Free admission, free direct transportation -- sounded like a winner to me! We (and way too many other people) boarded Line 6 for the 25-30 minute trip along the Vlatava then the Berounka rivers to the picturesque town of Zbraslav.

The village is centered around a not-square square (namesti -- and few of the "squares" I've seen have the shape of a New England town square!) with several shops, a few restaurants/cafes, a library, and even a couple penzions and a small theatre. It seems like a lovely place to "come home to," and given the housing market in Prague, I'm pretty certain this would be one of the commuter villages.

Approaching the village, we were treated to an excellent view of the Chateau. Someone describes it as "an impressive pile dating from 1268." It's now home (with lots of interesting side stories of its journey to this point) to a part of the National Gallery and currently is keeper of its permanent exhibition of Asian art. Two complementary non-art attractions are a lovely long hall lined on both sides with exquisite bonsai and a Japanese tearoom.

Walking through the entrance gate onto the beautiful grounds dotted with sculptures of many centuries and styles seemed like an entrance into another time and place. All the greenery was rich and lush, even with bus loads of people it was quiet and inviting, and each step seemed to move me further into the past.

The collection is impressive and beautifully displayed. It covers many centuries -- at least the early 12th to the present, many art forms, and includes items from Japan to Turkey. I must admit Asian art as a whole is not my favorite. That's probably a secondary reason I would have missed this lovely place when planning some time out. This collection is exquisite, inviting one to linger rather than move along. What a memorable evening.

The return trip was even more crowded, though that hardly seemed possible. The group was on its way to other viewing sites. Me? I wanted to listen. Concerts and recitals of every style everywhere. In the end, however, I called it quits. Long day, long night. Hours of walking/standing/waiting with a busy week ahead made the final decision. I traveled most of the way to the Dvorak Museum for its hour-long concert, then just couldn't gather the energy to walk the final four blocks, especially with the thought of lots more walking much later. Yes, it would have been a nice ending to the day. But Zbraslav wove its own spell, and it lingers still. Perhaps my body knew better than my brain!

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!

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!

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.

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.