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.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Uppers and Downers
Moments, not meds!
Upper -- watching two beautiful dogs play leapfrog in a lovely little park right beside the Vlatava River, tower of Charles Bridge only a block away.
Downer -- walking in the rain, yet again. Or still!
Upper -- being able to answer a question for directions and be understood.
Downer -- sitting on a tram behind a young man who was obviously very ill and very disturbed
U -- having a baby about six months old "communicate" with me as we walked along the street, talking, laughing, gesturing, generally having a grand old time, he in his stroller, I on my feet
D -- feeling SO disorganized, carrying way too much paper around way too often
U -- coming home to the peace and grace of my own flat
D -- trudging, not walking home
U -- watching the parks turn green, in spite of the cold
D -- the cold
U -- turning a corner to find a row of "painted ladies", Prague (or San Francisco east) style, lovely not-quite-pale yellows, pinks, greens, blues
D -- realizing it was the wrong corner
U -- joining new friends for an incredibly wonderful children's marionette show (the art is very alive and well in Prague)
D -- missing family and loved friends
U -- going somewhere "new" and realizing it was familiar
D -- thinking about all the places I haven't gone
U -- watching mothers/fathers and their very young children on the metro and trams, the loving touches, the smiles, and almost always the child riding patiently in the area reserved for strollers
D -- missing the children in my life
U -- seeing the hint of a smile on a face that looks as though it seldom wears a smile
D -- seeing faces that seem to be frozen in sadness and/or anger
U -- hearing unexpected music, played well
D -- not hearing more music
U -- being here!
D -- not being "there" also!
Upper -- watching two beautiful dogs play leapfrog in a lovely little park right beside the Vlatava River, tower of Charles Bridge only a block away.
Downer -- walking in the rain, yet again. Or still!
Upper -- being able to answer a question for directions and be understood.
Downer -- sitting on a tram behind a young man who was obviously very ill and very disturbed
U -- having a baby about six months old "communicate" with me as we walked along the street, talking, laughing, gesturing, generally having a grand old time, he in his stroller, I on my feet
D -- feeling SO disorganized, carrying way too much paper around way too often
U -- coming home to the peace and grace of my own flat
D -- trudging, not walking home
U -- watching the parks turn green, in spite of the cold
D -- the cold
U -- turning a corner to find a row of "painted ladies", Prague (or San Francisco east) style, lovely not-quite-pale yellows, pinks, greens, blues
D -- realizing it was the wrong corner
U -- joining new friends for an incredibly wonderful children's marionette show (the art is very alive and well in Prague)
D -- missing family and loved friends
U -- going somewhere "new" and realizing it was familiar
D -- thinking about all the places I haven't gone
U -- watching mothers/fathers and their very young children on the metro and trams, the loving touches, the smiles, and almost always the child riding patiently in the area reserved for strollers
D -- missing the children in my life
U -- seeing the hint of a smile on a face that looks as though it seldom wears a smile
D -- seeing faces that seem to be frozen in sadness and/or anger
U -- hearing unexpected music, played well
D -- not hearing more music
U -- being here!
D -- not being "there" also!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Oh, It's a Great Day - - -
for just about anything and everything. Murphy has left town. You know the guy -- if anything can go wrong it will go wrong! Well, he spent a considerable amount of time in my neighborhood this week! When I awoke this morning, I could just tell he was gone.
For starters, the sun was shining. (There hasn't been much of that lately -- I'm still wearing my winter coat, and it has been soaked more than once this past week.) To be certain I knew it was time to get up, there was a bird chorus under the window. I still don't know their names, but they have practiced well, and their music is lovely. Either they moved from Namesti Miru when I did or they sent their relatives to keep my company -- I do recognize the song. Whichever it is, I really appreciate their grace notes in my life.
It was such a wonderful morning to be lazy, to sort out and clean up all the papers of the past week and get a little jump on things that needed to be done for the coming week. It was also a great day for walking to the grocery store and coming home with lovely bread and really good radishes and apples, for riding the tram to the laundromat and coming home with everything clean except what was on my back, for getting acquainted with the shops and taking a few pictures of the graceful and colorful buildings in the neighborhood, for exploring the source of my "new" church bells, and for just enjoying a laid back day in this wonderful city.
About those church bells -- they come from the Church of the Sacred Heart, designed by the architect Plecnik, who also redid Prague Castle, and built in 1928-1932. One source says "ecclesiastical modernism reached new heights," another "one of the most inspiring pieces of modern architecture in the city," and yet another "it dominates a quiet square in the Vinorahdy quarter in Prague." That's my neighborhood, and I get to see the church with its enormous transparent clock and marvel every time I walk to the tram.
This would have been a very good day with only the bits and pieces of the ordinary. And yes, those everyday things do remain extraordinary to me. But it moved up to great about 4 o'clock. That's when I joined Toni, an American who's been here for nearly four years, at a terrific pub in Karlin, an area of Prague that was really devastated by the floods of a couple years ago. They have their own brews, as well as at least a hundred others. Of course I went for one (or two) of the house brands! And we talked and talked, ate some delicious soup and fried cheese, and talked and talked some more.
Definitely a great day -- and this is only half of the weekend!
For starters, the sun was shining. (There hasn't been much of that lately -- I'm still wearing my winter coat, and it has been soaked more than once this past week.) To be certain I knew it was time to get up, there was a bird chorus under the window. I still don't know their names, but they have practiced well, and their music is lovely. Either they moved from Namesti Miru when I did or they sent their relatives to keep my company -- I do recognize the song. Whichever it is, I really appreciate their grace notes in my life.
It was such a wonderful morning to be lazy, to sort out and clean up all the papers of the past week and get a little jump on things that needed to be done for the coming week. It was also a great day for walking to the grocery store and coming home with lovely bread and really good radishes and apples, for riding the tram to the laundromat and coming home with everything clean except what was on my back, for getting acquainted with the shops and taking a few pictures of the graceful and colorful buildings in the neighborhood, for exploring the source of my "new" church bells, and for just enjoying a laid back day in this wonderful city.
About those church bells -- they come from the Church of the Sacred Heart, designed by the architect Plecnik, who also redid Prague Castle, and built in 1928-1932. One source says "ecclesiastical modernism reached new heights," another "one of the most inspiring pieces of modern architecture in the city," and yet another "it dominates a quiet square in the Vinorahdy quarter in Prague." That's my neighborhood, and I get to see the church with its enormous transparent clock and marvel every time I walk to the tram.
This would have been a very good day with only the bits and pieces of the ordinary. And yes, those everyday things do remain extraordinary to me. But it moved up to great about 4 o'clock. That's when I joined Toni, an American who's been here for nearly four years, at a terrific pub in Karlin, an area of Prague that was really devastated by the floods of a couple years ago. They have their own brews, as well as at least a hundred others. Of course I went for one (or two) of the house brands! And we talked and talked, ate some delicious soup and fried cheese, and talked and talked some more.
Definitely a great day -- and this is only half of the weekend!
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.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Happy Easter(n)
Happy Easter to you -- or vesele Velikonece. Not long after arriving someone told several of us about the tradition of men whipping (the actual word used was "beating") women with sticks at Easter. That, of course, raised more than a bit of curiosity! My first response was "Not me they won't!"
So many questions, so few answers! First one -- in a country that certainly is not strongly religious, why would Easter Monday be a public holiday? I've come from the Bible Belt where Good Friday gets a fair amount of recognition, but Easter Monday? Another -- how to make sense of the variety of what appear to be folk customs and traditions which seemingly have no connection to Easter as I know it. Not opposed, mind you, just curious! And still the big one -- whipping? And receiving gaily decorated eggs in return?
To pass along the little I've learned. Easter here is quite a mix of traditions and customs which pre-date Christianity. And the customs are observed mostly in villages and small towns. And that is just where I've spent Easter!
At last -- a trip to Zahorany, Dasa's home village, to spend two days with her mother and brothers. It was a wonderful reunion for me, one that I wasn't sure would ever happen. And I've treasured every moment of it. With the use of my trusty Czech-English dictionary (which has spent other happy hours in their home) we had a great time. The hugs at the bus station in Litomerice were a treat in themselves (and seemed to have some mutual relief that at last we were together again, bad health and miles not interfering), and it only got better. Every meal incredible traditional Czech cooking (waaaay too much food, but every bite marvelous), smiles and nods to the stories of our shared grandson/nephew, company dropping by and staying for hours (people still do that in villages when it's obvious something a bit out of the ordinary is happening!) long restful sleep under the cozy duvet, and endless offers of more kava (coffee), caj (tea), pivo (beer), vino (I don't need to tell you that, do I?), vadu (water). And especially the time spent just enjoying being together.
AND watching the snow! All day Easter it snowed. Most of the time the temperature was just warm enough that it stuck only a few minutes. And it varied from a heavy fall of huge flakes to a general drifting of smaller ones and back again to large and heavy. All day!
Another treat was that each day Dasa and Michael called to see how things were going, offer any translation or information needed, and generally to stay in touch. Both babickas (not sure the plural, my Czech is only a tad better than when I arrived, but it is two grandmothers) in the same house. It was great, and I must admit how cared for I felt/feel. It was in one of those calls that I learned from Dasa that Monday is the BIG DAY, not Sunday. She'd said earlier that the children came around and sang, then received candy/colored eggs, and I really wanted to see that.
Now I know about Easter Monday Zahorany style. During the morning we had a slow but regular stream of visitors, mostly young men who came with their pomlazka (the braided whip which has colorful ribbons tied to the top). Both Dana and I were tapped lightly, then the "older" (it looked like 13/14 and up) males were offered their choice of drinks and children were offered eggs and candy. It was indeed a treat to see and yes, my resistance is now lowered, tho' I still wonder about the source of this beating thing! One other note -- yes, about four hours later I happened to see a neighbor male being guided back to his home fence. Instinct told me that would be the result of all that "elbow bending." Good thing there was no need for designated drivers. I'm certain none could have been found.
I'd been invited for Monday lunch by Dasa's aunt and uncle. Again, a happy reunion. And at the same time, sad. This also is a traditional Czech home, one which has been lovingly cared for and updated over many years. The disastrous floods of 2002 and 2005/6 devastated it all, the second one just after they'd finished restoration from the first. Just across the street and down a steep embankment is the Labe River, probably better know to you as the Elbe, which is its name in Germany. It's running full now -- I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to watch it come right across the street and keep going several feet deep through your home. They have yet again cleaned and restored, which is not an easy task at any age, and surely not in your 70s!
And oh my goodness -- again, what a meal. Highlight? I not only thoroughly enjoyed eating but also got to watch the making of brambory (potato) knedlicky (dumplings). Oh me oh my! It took me right back to the days of my grandmother teaching me to make noodles. Start with flour (in this case boiled, grated potatoes) on a board, make a well for the eggs, etc., etc. While the meal was being prepared, a five-year-old neighbor girl arrived with her willow twigs and her well-rehearsed song/poem. Once launched into her first word, there was no stopping, no breath, no smile, just full steam ahead. SO cute!
Just in case I might be hungry (you're kidding, right?) there were two marvelous appetizers. Since I'm definitely not a novice at this, I knew enough to be polite (one) and disciplined (no more)! The meal starter? A marvelous light soup. Then on to roast duck, knedlicky, red or white sauerkraut, followed by Turkish coffee and mazanec, a traditional Easter cake. Again, the constant enjoyment of communicating every way possible! And loving every minute of it.
Really, this isn't a food column! It is, however, passing along my appreciation for the hospitality and my recognition of the gift of sharing bread and the "best of the house" with those you love and who love you, just because. . . . What a lovely weekend, what a special way to recognize life on Easter weekend.
The trip back to the bus station and to Prague was uneventful, made all the right choices to get to my own door, nice when you're a very uncertain transplant! Standing room only on the bus (knew this was probably the weekend for a reserved seat).
It's back to the routine, to everyday life as I know it (wonder if it was like that for the disciples?) And to you -- a wish for a year of new life, new adventures, new ways of finding and sharing love.
Oh yes -- Happy Eastern? Don't have a clue, but that is the Czech wish to friends. Certainly did take me by surprise the first time I heard it. Thought I'd misunderstood. Now I've heard it quite a few times -- I am blessed to have wonderful new friends here -- even received it as a wish in a text on my phone! So I've not heard incorrectly. It's Happy Eastern! To you and you and you.
So many questions, so few answers! First one -- in a country that certainly is not strongly religious, why would Easter Monday be a public holiday? I've come from the Bible Belt where Good Friday gets a fair amount of recognition, but Easter Monday? Another -- how to make sense of the variety of what appear to be folk customs and traditions which seemingly have no connection to Easter as I know it. Not opposed, mind you, just curious! And still the big one -- whipping? And receiving gaily decorated eggs in return?
To pass along the little I've learned. Easter here is quite a mix of traditions and customs which pre-date Christianity. And the customs are observed mostly in villages and small towns. And that is just where I've spent Easter!
At last -- a trip to Zahorany, Dasa's home village, to spend two days with her mother and brothers. It was a wonderful reunion for me, one that I wasn't sure would ever happen. And I've treasured every moment of it. With the use of my trusty Czech-English dictionary (which has spent other happy hours in their home) we had a great time. The hugs at the bus station in Litomerice were a treat in themselves (and seemed to have some mutual relief that at last we were together again, bad health and miles not interfering), and it only got better. Every meal incredible traditional Czech cooking (waaaay too much food, but every bite marvelous), smiles and nods to the stories of our shared grandson/nephew, company dropping by and staying for hours (people still do that in villages when it's obvious something a bit out of the ordinary is happening!) long restful sleep under the cozy duvet, and endless offers of more kava (coffee), caj (tea), pivo (beer), vino (I don't need to tell you that, do I?), vadu (water). And especially the time spent just enjoying being together.
AND watching the snow! All day Easter it snowed. Most of the time the temperature was just warm enough that it stuck only a few minutes. And it varied from a heavy fall of huge flakes to a general drifting of smaller ones and back again to large and heavy. All day!
Another treat was that each day Dasa and Michael called to see how things were going, offer any translation or information needed, and generally to stay in touch. Both babickas (not sure the plural, my Czech is only a tad better than when I arrived, but it is two grandmothers) in the same house. It was great, and I must admit how cared for I felt/feel. It was in one of those calls that I learned from Dasa that Monday is the BIG DAY, not Sunday. She'd said earlier that the children came around and sang, then received candy/colored eggs, and I really wanted to see that.
Now I know about Easter Monday Zahorany style. During the morning we had a slow but regular stream of visitors, mostly young men who came with their pomlazka (the braided whip which has colorful ribbons tied to the top). Both Dana and I were tapped lightly, then the "older" (it looked like 13/14 and up) males were offered their choice of drinks and children were offered eggs and candy. It was indeed a treat to see and yes, my resistance is now lowered, tho' I still wonder about the source of this beating thing! One other note -- yes, about four hours later I happened to see a neighbor male being guided back to his home fence. Instinct told me that would be the result of all that "elbow bending." Good thing there was no need for designated drivers. I'm certain none could have been found.
I'd been invited for Monday lunch by Dasa's aunt and uncle. Again, a happy reunion. And at the same time, sad. This also is a traditional Czech home, one which has been lovingly cared for and updated over many years. The disastrous floods of 2002 and 2005/6 devastated it all, the second one just after they'd finished restoration from the first. Just across the street and down a steep embankment is the Labe River, probably better know to you as the Elbe, which is its name in Germany. It's running full now -- I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to watch it come right across the street and keep going several feet deep through your home. They have yet again cleaned and restored, which is not an easy task at any age, and surely not in your 70s!
And oh my goodness -- again, what a meal. Highlight? I not only thoroughly enjoyed eating but also got to watch the making of brambory (potato) knedlicky (dumplings). Oh me oh my! It took me right back to the days of my grandmother teaching me to make noodles. Start with flour (in this case boiled, grated potatoes) on a board, make a well for the eggs, etc., etc. While the meal was being prepared, a five-year-old neighbor girl arrived with her willow twigs and her well-rehearsed song/poem. Once launched into her first word, there was no stopping, no breath, no smile, just full steam ahead. SO cute!
Just in case I might be hungry (you're kidding, right?) there were two marvelous appetizers. Since I'm definitely not a novice at this, I knew enough to be polite (one) and disciplined (no more)! The meal starter? A marvelous light soup. Then on to roast duck, knedlicky, red or white sauerkraut, followed by Turkish coffee and mazanec, a traditional Easter cake. Again, the constant enjoyment of communicating every way possible! And loving every minute of it.
Really, this isn't a food column! It is, however, passing along my appreciation for the hospitality and my recognition of the gift of sharing bread and the "best of the house" with those you love and who love you, just because. . . . What a lovely weekend, what a special way to recognize life on Easter weekend.
The trip back to the bus station and to Prague was uneventful, made all the right choices to get to my own door, nice when you're a very uncertain transplant! Standing room only on the bus (knew this was probably the weekend for a reserved seat).
It's back to the routine, to everyday life as I know it (wonder if it was like that for the disciples?) And to you -- a wish for a year of new life, new adventures, new ways of finding and sharing love.
Oh yes -- Happy Eastern? Don't have a clue, but that is the Czech wish to friends. Certainly did take me by surprise the first time I heard it. Thought I'd misunderstood. Now I've heard it quite a few times -- I am blessed to have wonderful new friends here -- even received it as a wish in a text on my phone! So I've not heard incorrectly. It's Happy Eastern! To you and you and you.
Friday, March 21, 2008
One of these things . . .
is not like the other.
Are you fortunate enough to have a bit of Sesame Street in your background? I certainly am. And a song that keeps playing in my head is "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong." It was a great guessing game while watching the program. It's just not so easy now.
It's not easy even if the topic is broadened to "similar and different." This gives the opportunity for a larger grouping, and with those two headings, everything could belong. It's definitely not so exclusionary! Whatever, whoever, you belong, you are in one of them.
Right now it is tough to keep up with the weather. One day it is spring. I remember what that is like; I know the checklist for a spring day. Bright, clear, Tarheel-blue sky, fluffy clouds, and of course the forsythia spreading cheer everywhere they've been allowed to root. And yes, we have had some of those days. Really magnificent. I don't understand how light is filtered differently in each of the seasons, but those days do lend an extra glow to even the most ordinary of buildings here.
Then there is the checklist for winter. And it is definitely different. Leaden skies, dense clouds that look like a dark tarp instead of individual formations, wind that whips around corners and seems to glue your feet to the cobblestones. And let's not forget the snow. Tiny flakes, huge flakes, gentle, or so heavy it is nearly impossible to see the buildings across the street.
There's a normal progression of things -- seasons follow each other, usually with a few days out of order to remind us what has been and what will come. Then there are the past few days. No normal progression with this! Read for a few minutes, then lift your eyes to a totally white world. Get on a tram feeling frozen, then get off a few stops later to brilliant sunshine. It has been amazing to watch.
I remember my first few years in NC hearing someone say "but this weather is really unusual" so often the phrase called attention to itself and made me wonder if a "usual" existed. And now - - - You guessed it! I'm hearing "this weather is really unusual" again. And I am off balance. The calendar says it is spring; the weather feels like the coldest yet, and it is definitely the most days of wind/snow for me. It "just doesn't belong."
There are always the moments when people seem to gravitate to one category or another. It is very difficult to forget the older man who fell getting onto a tram. Although Pragers will say of themselves they are very private, I will add they are also very polite, very helpful to those who need it, and appear either to withhold judgments or at least keep them private. As the man missed the step and stumbled over, three men immediately moved to help him. When it became apparent the fall was caused by way too much to drink, the assistance did not change. The same concern, the same care. It was easy to determine which behavior was "different". And the "similar" group is large: a quick response when help is needed -- a seat, a door, a little extra time.
And there are always the buildings! "Not like the others" is an understatement when used to describe the "Dancing House" at the edge of the Vlatava, just down the street from the Charles Bridge. (If you're curious, check out Dancing House on Wikipedia -- where else, of course, then click the first link for a 360 degree panoramic photo. It's awesome!). It was begun in 1992, has won architectural awards, and seems to be settling into the skyline and landscape just fine.
The Charles Bridge fits in both categories. It's definitely different -- one of a kind, almost mythic proportions to me. It's hard for my American mind/perspective to imagine taking for granted something which has been in place since the middle of the 14th century. And I still cannot walk over it without marveling at its past and being curious about its stories. At the same time it is similar -- it is just "one more bridge" over the river, altho' the only one with only foot traffic; its lines fit right into all the "newcomers" which surround it; and it is utilitarian -- a shortcut to get from one side to the other and a link between two very similar settings. Buildings which are centuries old inhabited by companies and people who are very much 21st century.
The list is endless -- so many little moments which jump into one group or another, then others which require considerable thought to find some semblance of order. Perhaps the grace and charm of "similar and different" is that we are allowed to move, sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not so easily, from one group to another, even if only in our own minds.
It's time to make sense of another day -- what is similar, what is different, and what are my choices.
Are you fortunate enough to have a bit of Sesame Street in your background? I certainly am. And a song that keeps playing in my head is "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong." It was a great guessing game while watching the program. It's just not so easy now.
It's not easy even if the topic is broadened to "similar and different." This gives the opportunity for a larger grouping, and with those two headings, everything could belong. It's definitely not so exclusionary! Whatever, whoever, you belong, you are in one of them.
Right now it is tough to keep up with the weather. One day it is spring. I remember what that is like; I know the checklist for a spring day. Bright, clear, Tarheel-blue sky, fluffy clouds, and of course the forsythia spreading cheer everywhere they've been allowed to root. And yes, we have had some of those days. Really magnificent. I don't understand how light is filtered differently in each of the seasons, but those days do lend an extra glow to even the most ordinary of buildings here.
Then there is the checklist for winter. And it is definitely different. Leaden skies, dense clouds that look like a dark tarp instead of individual formations, wind that whips around corners and seems to glue your feet to the cobblestones. And let's not forget the snow. Tiny flakes, huge flakes, gentle, or so heavy it is nearly impossible to see the buildings across the street.
There's a normal progression of things -- seasons follow each other, usually with a few days out of order to remind us what has been and what will come. Then there are the past few days. No normal progression with this! Read for a few minutes, then lift your eyes to a totally white world. Get on a tram feeling frozen, then get off a few stops later to brilliant sunshine. It has been amazing to watch.
I remember my first few years in NC hearing someone say "but this weather is really unusual" so often the phrase called attention to itself and made me wonder if a "usual" existed. And now - - - You guessed it! I'm hearing "this weather is really unusual" again. And I am off balance. The calendar says it is spring; the weather feels like the coldest yet, and it is definitely the most days of wind/snow for me. It "just doesn't belong."
There are always the moments when people seem to gravitate to one category or another. It is very difficult to forget the older man who fell getting onto a tram. Although Pragers will say of themselves they are very private, I will add they are also very polite, very helpful to those who need it, and appear either to withhold judgments or at least keep them private. As the man missed the step and stumbled over, three men immediately moved to help him. When it became apparent the fall was caused by way too much to drink, the assistance did not change. The same concern, the same care. It was easy to determine which behavior was "different". And the "similar" group is large: a quick response when help is needed -- a seat, a door, a little extra time.
And there are always the buildings! "Not like the others" is an understatement when used to describe the "Dancing House" at the edge of the Vlatava, just down the street from the Charles Bridge. (If you're curious, check out Dancing House on Wikipedia -- where else, of course, then click the first link for a 360 degree panoramic photo. It's awesome!). It was begun in 1992, has won architectural awards, and seems to be settling into the skyline and landscape just fine.
The Charles Bridge fits in both categories. It's definitely different -- one of a kind, almost mythic proportions to me. It's hard for my American mind/perspective to imagine taking for granted something which has been in place since the middle of the 14th century. And I still cannot walk over it without marveling at its past and being curious about its stories. At the same time it is similar -- it is just "one more bridge" over the river, altho' the only one with only foot traffic; its lines fit right into all the "newcomers" which surround it; and it is utilitarian -- a shortcut to get from one side to the other and a link between two very similar settings. Buildings which are centuries old inhabited by companies and people who are very much 21st century.
The list is endless -- so many little moments which jump into one group or another, then others which require considerable thought to find some semblance of order. Perhaps the grace and charm of "similar and different" is that we are allowed to move, sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not so easily, from one group to another, even if only in our own minds.
It's time to make sense of another day -- what is similar, what is different, and what are my choices.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Gifts of the Day
Have you ever counted how many times a day you were given an unexpected gift? I've not counted, but I've certainly been gifted. Here are just a few - - -
A shy, beautiful smile from a young Czech girl across the aisle from me on the tram. She wasn't more than 5 or 6, she was very quiet, and when I happened to look her way, she was already looking at me. I don't know -- maybe it's that I do look funny wearing Birkenstocks with a heavy winter coat, maybe I look American even when I try very hard to fit in, or maybe she just knew that I would be charmed. I hope it was the latter. As soon as we made eye contact, she gave me a smile that seemed to come from a very private place way down inside her. It wasn't broad, it wasn't bold. It didn't fade quickly nor seem embarrassed to be seen. And it surely was real. What a gift!
Two lovely white birds (could they be doves?) resting on the bare black branches outside my wonderful big Czech window. They had their secret agreements -- when to come, how long to stay, when to go. But for those few moments, they brought life to a tree waiting patiently for a bit more sunshine and warmer weather. I have no idea who else may have been watching, but right then, they were mine.
Someone I scarcely know going out of her way to help locate some long-term accommodation for me. No reason, no payoff, no "extra points" with someone else. Just quietly writing a couple emails, then reporting on the results. It may have been a "give back." I know others have done that for her. But giving back and passing it on are more rare than any of us would wish. I received the gift, and I will pass it on.
Fat buds on a bush at the side of the tram tracks. What a promise! That cold wind WILL be replaced by spring, then summer, then fall, and once again they will have their sleep, then grace us all with a new promise. I do hope others will turn around for just one quick look. It isn't all dark, it can and will change.
The marvelous smile which welcomes me to breakfast each morning that I don't have an early class. How I wish I could speak Czech, could tell her what a gift her presence is in my day. And I'd love to hear the stories she must have to tell. If I could ask, I'm sure she'd say there weren't any that would be interesting. And I just know each of them would be. That little lady -- and she's very short and trim, probably also near my age -- really knows how to light up a room. She doesn't reserve the smile and the greeting for those who look as though they will return it. She almost dares you to keep a straight face. And very few do. When she says "dobre rano" (good morning, first thing in the day) she means it. Not only does she gift you with her smile, she follows it with coffee! What a way to start a day!
Each student who tells me how quickly the time has passed in our session together, whether it's 60 or 120 minutes. It is such hard work to think in another language that long! And then to say that it has seemed a short time. Wow! Makes me want to spend more time finding things I hope will be interesting, I trust will give them the progress they're seeking. And certainly makes me eager for the next session. I really didn't know it could be such a gift to begin again, to put all the past years together in a different way, in a different place.
It is a gift that I am able to share this marvelous adventure with you. Thank you for coming along with me. And especially this day -- look for the gifts in your life. When I turned the alarm off (not willingly, you may be sure) this morning, I never would have guessed one day could be so full of wonder and grace. I'm wishing the same for you
A shy, beautiful smile from a young Czech girl across the aisle from me on the tram. She wasn't more than 5 or 6, she was very quiet, and when I happened to look her way, she was already looking at me. I don't know -- maybe it's that I do look funny wearing Birkenstocks with a heavy winter coat, maybe I look American even when I try very hard to fit in, or maybe she just knew that I would be charmed. I hope it was the latter. As soon as we made eye contact, she gave me a smile that seemed to come from a very private place way down inside her. It wasn't broad, it wasn't bold. It didn't fade quickly nor seem embarrassed to be seen. And it surely was real. What a gift!
Two lovely white birds (could they be doves?) resting on the bare black branches outside my wonderful big Czech window. They had their secret agreements -- when to come, how long to stay, when to go. But for those few moments, they brought life to a tree waiting patiently for a bit more sunshine and warmer weather. I have no idea who else may have been watching, but right then, they were mine.
Someone I scarcely know going out of her way to help locate some long-term accommodation for me. No reason, no payoff, no "extra points" with someone else. Just quietly writing a couple emails, then reporting on the results. It may have been a "give back." I know others have done that for her. But giving back and passing it on are more rare than any of us would wish. I received the gift, and I will pass it on.
Fat buds on a bush at the side of the tram tracks. What a promise! That cold wind WILL be replaced by spring, then summer, then fall, and once again they will have their sleep, then grace us all with a new promise. I do hope others will turn around for just one quick look. It isn't all dark, it can and will change.
The marvelous smile which welcomes me to breakfast each morning that I don't have an early class. How I wish I could speak Czech, could tell her what a gift her presence is in my day. And I'd love to hear the stories she must have to tell. If I could ask, I'm sure she'd say there weren't any that would be interesting. And I just know each of them would be. That little lady -- and she's very short and trim, probably also near my age -- really knows how to light up a room. She doesn't reserve the smile and the greeting for those who look as though they will return it. She almost dares you to keep a straight face. And very few do. When she says "dobre rano" (good morning, first thing in the day) she means it. Not only does she gift you with her smile, she follows it with coffee! What a way to start a day!
Each student who tells me how quickly the time has passed in our session together, whether it's 60 or 120 minutes. It is such hard work to think in another language that long! And then to say that it has seemed a short time. Wow! Makes me want to spend more time finding things I hope will be interesting, I trust will give them the progress they're seeking. And certainly makes me eager for the next session. I really didn't know it could be such a gift to begin again, to put all the past years together in a different way, in a different place.
It is a gift that I am able to share this marvelous adventure with you. Thank you for coming along with me. And especially this day -- look for the gifts in your life. When I turned the alarm off (not willingly, you may be sure) this morning, I never would have guessed one day could be so full of wonder and grace. I'm wishing the same for you
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